


Allegiances

by EllieRose101



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/pseuds/EllieRose101
Summary: When your first love turns evil and your supposed enemy has your back – when even your mom has turned away – who is a Slayer to trust?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the '12 Years, 12 Seasons' Challenge on Elysian Fields.
> 
> I haven't added warnings because it kind of depends on perspective. Characters die in this, for example, but I'm not sure I would consider them 'major'. Others may disagree. There is swearing and violence but it's not explicit.

Things had been wrong for a while. Since the start, Spike realized now, but he’d been too foolish to see it then.

Drusilla didn’t love him.

Not properly. Never fully. She wasn’t able – Angelus had made sure of that. It made Spike sick, thinking on it, but what could he do? A feral yell escaped his throat as he slammed his skull back against the wall. What the bloody _fuck_ could he do?

He was on the verge of tears when his sire glided into the room, cooing over him, and he shoved the unwanted emotion back.

“Morning, love,” he greeted, not able to hide the crack in his voice completely.

Drusilla stopped her cooing and stepped back, but said nothing; at least, nothing about the miserable, great big elephant in the crypt.

“Things are at a pinnacle,” she whispered, twirling around the room.

Okay, that got his interest. Thank the gods, because he needed a distraction. “Oh?” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” Drusilla affirmed, grinning. “It’s written in the stars. The Slayer’s birthday.”

Spike’s face dropped as his brief glimmer of hope died. The bloody slayer was something else he sorely didn’t want to think about. He’d seen her and Angel out and about, falling all over each other, and it did something horrible to his insides he couldn’t find words for. (Literally. He’d tried a poem or two – punky, dark verse – but they hadn’t fit together right.)

Just what soddin’ right did Angel have to be happy? The ponce got everything he always wanted for years, and made sure no one else could have anything good all the while.

The sick feeling was rising up again and Spike fought hard to ignore it. He wished vampires could just vomit and have done with it. Drusilla’s childlike whimper of his name as he went to exit the room made him pause, mid-step.

“Yeah, love?” he asked, the words almost a sigh.

“Don’t you want to hear their plans?”

Spike swallowed. Even though he hadn’t looked back at her again, he could tell she was pouting. “Not now,” he said, forcing his voice to sound impassive.

It took a lot of effort, but he continued on his way out of the room, knowing he was leaving her disappointed. Knowing that was all he’d ever left her. But that it wasn’t exactly one-sided, was it?

\---

Spike wandered aimlessly, wondering what he could do next to try and gain Dru’s full affections. If there even was a next thing to try. Hadn’t he already decided it was a lost cause? Was it wrong that he didn’t want to give up even if it was?

He cursed himself and prayed again for a distraction.

Just then, a familiar scent caught his attention. He looked up in time to see one of Buffy’s teachers – Jenny, was it? – crossing the street in a hurry. She was so busy trying to get somewhere, she almost got hit by a car.

Spike decided to follow her to see what could be worth the risk.

When he’d faced off against the Slayer and her gang the night before, he’d smelt power from this one – power and fear. And not the usual fear, either. No. He was convinced this one was hiding something and bloody terrified it’d get out.

Unwittingly, she led him to a motel, which was convenient enough for him, seeing as he could enter without an invite.

Knocking once, she went into one of the rooms.

Spike hung back in the shadows and scented the place out. From what he could tell, there was a man with her; a relation of the teacher, if Spike’s nose was not very much mistaken.

_Curiouser and curiouser_ , he mused, as he listened.

He was horrified by what he heard, and what he didn’t hear but was able to glean by reading between the lines. They were descended from the Romanian gypsy tribe Darla had led him too all those years ago. The tribe Angelus had ripped apart. And now his grandsire was in danger of returning to his old ways.

“Fuck,” said Spike, as he slunk away. “This can’t happen. I will _not_ let this happen.”

He made a beeline for Buffy’s house only to hang back once more when he saw her on the front step, passing a bag of groceries to her mother.

“I’ll get the last two,” she said. “Be in in a minute.”

Buffy turned towards the car, cast a look sideways, and demanded in hushed tones, “What do you want?”

Spike stepped into her line of sight. “I need a word.”

She rolled her eyes. “Traitor. How’s that for a word?”

“Hey, now,” he raised his hands. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, her hands going to her hips. “That’s what you told me. You said me and mine would be safe. That you were only in town to cure your crazy girlfriend and then you’d be gone again.” She shook her head. “Angel told me I couldn't trust you.”

Spike’s nostrils flared but he bit back the barb that presented itself on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he explained, “Angel’s blood was the only thing that could help her. I didn’t know that when I offered the truce. And he survived, didn’t he?” Spike wished he hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Uh huh,” said Buffy, pulling a stake from the waistband of her jeans. “And what about the part where you leave town as soon as Drusilla was well. She’s better, isn’t she?”

Spike grit his teeth. “Look, I’m trying to help you out here. Do you have to make it so bleedin’ difficult?”

The stake lowered ever so slightly. “Help me do what?”

“It’s Angel,” said Spike.

Buffy’s arm tensed, bringing the stake higher again. “If you’ve gone after him again, I swear–”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Could you just hear me out _before_ you get your knickers in a twist? The big berk is fine, far as I know.”

“Talk,” said Buffy.

Spike shook his head. “Not here. Don’t want people overhearing. It’s… _sensitive_.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed and he could tell she was considering it but, eventually, she declined the offer, restating her own position: “Talk. Here. Now.”

He sighed and he told her.

She was silent for a long minute. After that, she said, “You’re telling me that Angel might lose his soul and that my teacher knows all about it? Did you even try and make this sound believable?”

“You know what, Slayer? I don’t even know why I bother,” he snapped. Though he knew all too well. Angelus coming forth would be bad for everyone, least of all him.

“Why should I believe you?” Buffy asked.

“Don’t believe me if that’s how you want to be. Ask your teacher about it.”

Buffy took a step forward. The stake wasn't in her hand anymore, but Spike hadn’t noticed her put it away. She could be tricky like that.

“Why?” she asked again.

He closed his eyes, hating the conversation and hating himself more. In a whisper, he confessed, “I wouldn’t want him to do to you what he did to Dru.” He opened his eyes again and stared at her defiantly. “No one deserves that.”

Buffy looked away. She opened her mouth to say something, but Joyce came to the front door again and asked what was keeping Buffy. She started when she saw Spike.

“Do I know you?”

Spike looked between her and Buffy. To Joyce he said, “I’m a friend,” before whispering to Buffy, “Ask your teacher,” as he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy couldn’t breathe. The sobs that gripped her stole the air from her lungs. She pitched forward onto Angel’s bed, pulling up her knees and hugging them tightly to her chest. She rocked over onto her other side and stilled until the tears subsided enough for her to think.

The dam broke, the resulting thoughts coming in an unstoppable rush once the first pushed through.

How could she have been so stupid? Spike had warned her. He’d told her Angel could lose his soul and she’d thought he was trying to pull some stunt. She’d spoken to Miss Calendar and Jenny had hesitated. Buffy pressed her and she admitted it was true, but no one gave her details. No one explained _how_ he could lose it. She guessed now that maybe they didn’t know.

She knew it wouldn’t have mattered even if they did.

Buffy hadn’t really wanted to believe it. And even if it was true, it couldn’t be so bad. She knew Angel and trusted him. Even without a soul he would still be himself. Maybe just a little less broody, she supposed, but she could live with that. Spike didn’t have a soul and it wasn’t like he was the worst guy ever.

Angel certainly didn’t think it was true. He’d been so convincing, telling her there was no way it would happen. Their love was pure, he said. It was destiny, he said. They were the champions of the Powers that Be, and the PTB wouldn’t let something like that happen, would they?

Buffy could concede that Spike might lie about it. She didn’t know why he’d do it, even hypothetically, but Angel knew him better than her. He kept telling her not to listen to him. Whatever. It was Miss Calendar’s words Buffy put stock into. No matter how she might feel about Spike, she trusted her teacher.

Angel didn’t.

“She’s confused,” he said. “Spike must have got to her. Manipulated her, somehow.”

“I don’t know,” she’d said, though she had to admit he could be charming. And Jenny was a good person. That sometimes meant being naïve – wanting to believe the best of people, even if they were a vampire.

God! Replaying all the excuses in her head made Buffy feel worse. If anyone was naïve, it was her. Now she was paying for it, but not like the woman in the alley had.

Buffy had woken up at the sound of her screaming but hadn't made it outside before it cut off with a horrible gurgling sound. Angel was hunched over the limp body and Buffy was frozen to the spot, standing barefoot and half-dressed in the rain, staring at him as he turned around and flashed a wicked, fanged grin. His lips were still dripping blood.

That had got Buffy’s legs moving. She ran back into his apartment and slammed the door shut even as she heard the body fall to the ground. It made a splashing sound as it dropped unceremoniously into a puddle.

Buffy covered her ears but her eyes were wide as they tried to take in the sight of the rumpled sheets and what they represented; the conclusion it spelled out. Half groggy from sleep and half wired from adrenaline, her mind raced only to trip over itself again and again.

It wasn’t until Angel had gone around the outside of the apartment and burst in through the front to stand, looming over her, that it all fully sank in.

His eyes were different; his whole tone of voice wrong. And the things he said! Buffy shuddered just remembering them.

With blood still smearing his cheek, he had leaned in to kiss her. Buffy had shoved him away and he laughed as he shoved back. The only thing that stopped him pinning her to the bed was the cross she reached just in time.

Angel backed off when she shoved it in his face. He threw a few parting barbs at her, then just walked out as if nothing happened. As if everything hadn’t just gone up in flames.

And it was all her fault. After all the talking, Angel had been annoyed that Buffy had entertained Spike’s claims even briefly. She said that she didn’t, but the fact that she did as he said and spoke to Miss Calendar proved that wasn’t true.

Angel accused Buffy of not trusting him, which of course forced the knee-jerk response of trying to prove her loyalty. She’d practically offered herself up on a silver platter, and he’d taken all of her.

What was she supposed to do with what was left?

\---

Spike had been out hunting alone. Or, at least, trying to hunt. He’d been off his food in the two days it had been since he’d successfully found a way to cure Drusilla and she’d rewarded his efforts by using her newfound strength to go out and bang the first lot of bodies she found – living or dead.

It clearly didn’t matter to her that the Slayer had almost ruined everything and damn near killed them both, or that he’d broken his word to Buffy to get it done, Dru was just mad he’d had to hurt her precious “daddy” to make her well again.

Part of Spike regretted ever helping her, and he hated himself for that. Wanting her sick and his, more so than full strength and someone else’s, made him no better than Angelus, and there was no way in hell he was letting himself become that tosser.

Speak of the devil… His grandsire’s scent was all over the place.

Cold dread filled Spike as he broke into a run. Angel must have come to kill Drusilla while he was out, and it was all his fault. How could he have let this happen? How could he have got so caught up in his own feelings that he’d just left her alone in the crypt, knowing that there would likely be reprisals for using Angel in the ritual?

It didn’t matter what she’d done. She didn’t deserve that.

Chest heaving, Spike ran to the bedroom door and stopped dead at the sight: Drusilla on the bed, being held down, laughing with glee as Angel forced himself on her.

Spike turned away, his whole body shaking with rage and a million other things he’d rather not think about. He knew better than to interrupt them – to drag Angelus off – but there was no way in hell he was sticking around for a rerun of them shagging each other’s brains out atop his bed.

Things were at a pinnacle, eh? Well, it was bloody clear what that meant now.

Despite his own suffering – and there was enough of it to keep him going a very long time – Spike spared an errant thought for Buffy.

God, he hoped Angel hadn’t killed the chit.

Back outside, he wandered around for a while, torn between seeking out an answer and uncertainty about whether he really wanted it or not. Eventually, his feet led him to the Slayer’s house. Her scent was there, but it wasn’t recent.

From there, Spike’s nose led him to an apartment that he assumed belonged to Angel, given the stench of him all over it. There was a body out back and the sound of crying within.

Spike heaved a breath, both relieved and furious. Buffy was still alive but she hadn’t listened. He knew the script. Next would come the part where Angel would make her regret surviving this far.

It was all Spike could do not to walk in there and pick her up – hug her to himself and then shake her for all she’d done. Ignoring both instincts, he went to get drunk.


	3. Chapter 3

Groaning at the sore muscles screaming in his back and the worst headache he’d had for a decade, Spike rolled over and found himself up close and personal with a trash bag. As unpleasant as that was, it was a bloody good job he had rolled, because sunlight was creeping into the alley, and it was now no more than an inch away from where his face had started off.

He blinked and shielded his eyes. It was a full minute before he remembered why he had gotten drunk in the first place; the image of Angel and Dru together flashing in his mind.

For the brief second that followed that, he considered rolling back toward the sun.

He wanted to cry but didn’t seem to have any tears left. Could vampires get dehydrated? He shook his head and hauled himself to his feet, retreating further into the alley until he found a sewer hatch.

Spike jumped down, his feet making a splashing sound, and pulled the hatch closed again. He was safe from imminent death, but unsure what to do next. His heart tugged him in two directions, one half back to Dru and the other towards Buffy.

Sure, he’d checked on the Slayer the night before, but a lot could happen in just a few hours. Was she still safe? Would she ever feel safe again?

Spike sighed and closed his eyes. He could hear rats scurrying all around him. Steeling himself, he accepted the only real option circumstance had left him with. It was daylight, so he’d return to the crypt. Then, at nightfall, he’d seek out Buffy again; actually try and talk to her this time.

As he made his way through the tunnels, Spike found himself torn once more. Did he want to find Angelus at the crypt or gone? Gone would probably mean he was off somewhere tormenting Buffy, or at least laying plans to do so, but him being there with Dru meant… well, him being with Dru.

The sick feeling Spike had just would not shift. He finished his walk and got his answer. It was option C. Angel wasn’t there, but neither was Dru. All of her dresses and dolls were gone. Bloodstains on the sheets were the only sign that the crypt had been occupied, not long before.

Spike swore. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of himself, a growl began and held, building until all the walls were echoing what sounded like a feral wolf pack. When the sound broke, trailing off into a sob, it was all he could do not to collapse on the floor. He didn’t want to be in the bedroom, though. Not able to bear the thought, he dragged himself to the main living area, curled in a corner, and fell into a fitful sleep. He could track Dru and Angel when the sun went down, but until then there was nothing else for it.

\---

Spike put off tracking Dru first thing. When he woke up and was assaulted by the cacophony of smells seemingly exuding from every surface, he ran from the crypt knowing he wouldn't return. He'd have set the place alight if he had been able to hang around long enough.

It was with an increasing sense of dread that he stumbled across Angel’s scent again on the way to Buffy’s house. Spike picked up speed, equal parts hoping he could help in any fight that might be going down and praying that whatever the Arse was doing, it hadn’t progressed into full-on violence yet.

As he stopped outside the house, panting, Spike scanned the area. Angel had definitely been there, but he was gone now. There were no ambulances or bodies in the front yard, which Spike took as a good sign.

Taking in a few more lungfuls of air, his nostrils flared at the new scent filling them. He stomped around to the back of the house where Buffy was sat, alone, on her porch steps.

“Are you completely insane? What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?”

Buffy peered up at him with wide, owl-ish eyes. They had black bags underneath that seemed to be a combination of no sleep and tear-smudged mascara.  

Spike swallowed, his ire seeping out of his bones again. Buffy was so heartbroken, she didn’t even bitch at him for swearing at her. Bloody hell but he was a prick.

“Sorry,” he said. “Bit on edge.”

Buffy turned her face away but he took a seat beside her anyway, picking his movements carefully so as not to crowd her.

“I just meant that maybe it’s not the best idea for you to be outside, is all.”

She shrugged and he cursed himself for wasting time in checking on her properly. Angel was clearly making swift progress on engendering a death wish.

After a heavy silence, Buffy said, “I’m guessing you know.”

Spike hung his head. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

Buffy shuddered. “Angel was here earlier,” she continued. “He put on this whole act and told my mom that he hadn’t been able to sleep since we had sex.” Buffy looked Spike dead in the eye as her voice pitched high. “He actually told my mother that we had sex and tried to get her to feel sorry for him. Can you believe that?”

“Yeah,” Spike said again.

Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I had no idea he could be like that. The mind games. I…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

“I take it Joyce got in alright?” Spike dared to ask.

A tortured smile slapped itself across Buffy’s face. “Oh, yeah. She slammed the door in his face and turned right on me, demanding I tell her everything.”

“Did you?” he pressed, feeling like a right pillock for questioning her but unable to stop himself.

“She got the Cliff Notes version,” said Buffy. “I already had to explain things to Giles and the gang. I… I couldn’t go through the details again. Not that she’d understand, anyway, with the supernatural bit.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot up. “She doesn’t know you’re the Slayer?”

“Nope.” Buffy said the word with a pop. The faux merriment of it made the whole conversation more stark, somehow.  

Spike blew out a breath. The shit just got deeper the longer you spent mired in it.

Buffy seemed to finally register the weirdness of their sitting down, having a chat, because her eyes unclouded a little and she asked, “What are you doing here?”

He grinned at her. “Came to offer a new truce, didn’t I?”

Buffy sighed. “Oh, right, sure. Because the last one went so well.”

Spike opened his mouth to explain his previous actions – again – but Buffy held up a hand.

“Don’t bother. I get it. How is Drusilla, anyway?”

Spike winced and Buffy sucked in a breath.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Spike. “I’ll sort it.”

“The truce?”

“Yeah. I was thinkin’, you’ll need to take out Angel. I can help.”

Buffy looked wary. “Help by doing what exactly?”

Spike held up two fingers. “One: I won’t get in your way. Won’t back up the great git the way he’ll no doubt expect. Two: I’ll take Dru out of the equation. When you face him, it will be _just_ him. Still a tricky task, but you can do it.”

There was silence as she considered it.

“Until then?” she asked, finally.

“Until then, you stay inside. Don’t invite him in again. Try and get a disinvite if he’s been there before. No casually sitting outside waiting to be eaten.” _Or worse_ , he didn’t say.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “I know how to deal with vampires, Spike. I was asking–”

“You don’t know how to deal with this one,” Spike interrupted. “How about you listen to me this once, eh?”

Buffy looked down. Spike had a terrible feeling he’d made her cry again, _goddamn it all_.

“I’m gonna stay with them,” he said, taking up her earlier question in the way she had intended it, hoping it would distract her from his callousness. He should feel callus towards her, some part of himself yelled, but he didn’t want that. She’d been dealt enough shit for a lifetime, and she was only sixteen.

_Seventeen_ , he corrected himself. Bloody hell, it must have been some birthday she had. Spike wanted to acknowledge it somehow, but Buffy drew him out of his thoughts before he could find a way to say ‘happy birthday, Slayer’ that wouldn’t make him sound like even more of a shit.

“You’re going back there?” she questioned. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged, though he reckoned any hope he had of coming across as indifferent was long gone. “The plan to take them down ain’t really gonna work if I’m not there, with them.”

Spike could tell she wanted to argue, but there was also a look of resignation on her face, because she knew he was right.

“It isn’t safe,” she said, after a minute.

“No,” he agreed. “Things aren’t safe for either of us right now.” He got up and told her to go back inside. “Maybe spend some time with your mum. Have a bit cake.”

She looked at him with such an intense mix of emotions etched into her features, Spike realized she’d matured a lot more than a single year in the past day or two. She’d be forever changed from the experience. That made him hate Angel that little bit more. Spike’s resolve to help her take him out hardened.

The look in Buffy’s eyes haunted him, the whole walk to Angel and Dru’s new digs.


	4. Chapter 4

After another night of almost no sleep, Buffy dragged herself out of bed to answer the door, bright and early Saturday morning.

Willow smiled when she entered, then handed over a letter.

“This was stuck to the door,” she said, the smile holding a second longer, then devolving into a frown after a quick scan of Buffy’s face. “Are you okay?”

Buffy didn’t answer as she peered into the envelope then folded it and put it into her back pocket.

“Right,” Willow continued. “Of course you’re not okay. That was a dumb question. Sorry, I just, you know…”

Before she could babble any further, Buffy cut to the chase. “Did you bring the stuff?”

Willow held up a grocery bag and had just opened her mouth again when Buffy felt rather than heard her mom come down the stairs behind her.

“What stuff is this?” she questioned, crossing her arms. “Buffy, didn’t I ground you? You know that means no guests as well as no going out.” She threw a look at Willow with a half-sincere, “Sorry.”

“This is important,” said Buffy. “Not a social call.”

Willow looked at her feet, avoiding eye contact with both of them.

“Fine,” said Joyce. “Explain it to me. If it’s really important, I’ll understand.”

Buffy’s full-body numbness gave way to feelings of extreme frustration as she tried and failed to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Joyce’s jaw ticked. “I see,” she said, turning to Willow again. “I’m sorry you wasted your time in coming over. Buffy’s not seeing anyone right now.”

“Mom,” Buffy began, but Joyce put up a hand.

“I don’t want to hear it.” She opened the door for Willow only to take a step back when Giles appeared on the other side.

“Ms Summers, if I might have a word,” he said primly.

Joyce looked between him and the girls for a second before sighing and letting him in. She and Giles took a seat in the living room as Buffy went upstairs with Willow and made sure she had everything she needed to disinvite Angel from the house.

“I’m all set,” said Willow. “The spell’s not actually that hard.”

Buffy tried to look happy about it but was pretty sure she failed when Willow’s expression turned pitying again.

“I’m not sure what to say,” she said. “I feel like I should be saying something to help. That’s the best friend’s job, right? But I…” she trailed off, then changed tack. “I love you, Buffy, and I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m here if you wanna talk, or whatever. If there’s anything else I can do, just tell me.”

The ghost of a smile dusted Buffy’s lips. She tried to say thank you but all that came out was a sob. She covered her mouth with one hand, placing the other over her eyes.  

Willow put her arms around her. “Oh, Buffy, I didn’t mean to make you cry. We can get through this, because we have each other, right? The spell will stop Angel from getting in, and you’ll go after him and deal with him, and I know I said I didn’t know what to say, but now I can’t seem to stop talking and none of this is probably helping, but I want you to know that no one blames you for any of this, okay?”

Buffy’s shoulders shook as she pulled away and uncovered her face. She was still crying, but she needed to look at Willow as she said it. She had to understand.

“Don’t forgive me,” said Buffy.

“What?” said Willow. “No. I mean, there’s nothing to forgive. Buffy–”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s not that. You don’t get it. Everything that’s happening isn’t even the worst part.”

Despite the look of utter bewilderment on her face, Willow had presence of mind enough to lead Buffy over to her bed and sit her down.

Once in place, Buffy purged her soul of the confession. “The worst part,” she said. “The most awful part of all of this is that I still love him, Will. How sick is that? I’m a freak. I deserve this!”

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow said again. “No, of course not. This is all still fresh. Feelings don’t just vanish.”

“But they should,” said Buffy. “He killed someone right in front of me, and part of me is wishing that he’ll knock on my window and apologize; say it was all some big mistake and we can go back to being– to being–” she couldn’t finish as sobs started rolling through her again.

“Look,” said Willow, “I get that this isn’t exactly a normal situation, but I’m pretty sure everything you’re feeling is reasonable given, you know, everything.”

Buffy didn’t try and argue with her further. It only made it hurt worse.

After a minute or two of silence, Willow went on to say, “If still loving him is killing you that much, there is a tried and tested solution for that.”

Buffy stared at her, half hopeful, half scared.

Willow put a hand on her shoulder. “Nature abhors a vacuum, Buffy.”

The scared part of Buffy gave way to confusion. With that feeling at the forefront of her mind, she found herself just about able to stop crying. “A vacuum?” she questioned.

Willow gave her a look. The kind of look a teacher gets when their students are being particularly dense. “Not the cleaner. A vacuum, like a void.”

“Go on,” said Buffy, not sure what else she could say.

“It’s no good trying to cut something or someone out of your life, because there’ll be a big ol’ gap there, aching for them to step right back into it. You gotta fill the hole before they have that chance,” said Willow.

Buffy blinked. “Are you seriously suggesting I try finding someone else to be with right now? Rebounding isn’t exactly on my list of priorities here, Will.”

“Well, no,” said Willow, casting her eyes to the floor. “I didn’t really mean get a new boyfriend, just a new _something_. A huge part of your life has fallen apart. Without that piece, it makes all of the surrounding structure weak. You have to put something else in its place or everything will continue to crumble.”

Buffy tried to process that but found her brain shorting out. It _sounded_ like it made a kind of sense, but what did it mean practically? That if she got really into studying or slaying, she’d be distracted enough not to miss Angel? Somehow, she wasn't so sure, but other than school and her duties as the Chosen One, there wasn’t a lot of things that Buffy could think of to try and fill the hole with. It was hardly like she was gonna take up knitting.

She shook her head and decided to file the thought away for contemplation later, even as some other part of her clearly defective brain pointed out that being around Spike had helped. Spending more time with him was right up there with the knitting idea, though. _Not gonna happen in this reality._

Even so, Buffy appreciated Willow trying to help. She hugged her again, shoring up the positive vibes before going back downstairs to her doom.

Joyce wasted no time in demanding an explanation for why the school librarian was in her home or Willow had been talking about magic.

“Just what is all this, Buffy? Is there more you need to tell me about Angel?”

Buffy took a steadying breath. “Yes. And about me, too.” She swallowed. “Mom, Angel is a vampire. I’m the Slayer.”


	5. Chapter 5

Spike entered Restfield at dusk and took a seat on the closest gravestone to watch Buffy work. She made short shrift of the fledgling vamp before her, then lifted her head and caught him looking.

He had always loved to watch her kill things. It did things to him. Certain things he wasn’t entirely happy about.

He stood up and lit a cigarette. “Hello, cutie.”

Buffy turned and continued on her patrol. “Hello yourself.”

Spike fell into step beside her. “You got my note.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Buffy. “It was real subtle leaving it right there on my door. What if my mother had read it?”

“How else was I supposed to contact you?” Spike countered. Then, when Buffy didn't answer he asked, “How is your mum.”

Buffy’s pace slowed. She turned to face him. “She’s pissed.”

Spike looked thoughtful for a moment. “Are we talking drunk or angry, here?”

“Try both,” said Buffy, absently rubbing her temples. “I told her about the whole Slayer thing. Boy did it not go well.”

It was on the tip of Spike’s tongue to say he was sorry about that, but he bit it back. What did he have to be sorry for?

“Look, Slayer,” he began, but Buffy caught him off.

“You said you had information. I wanna hear it.”

Spike pursed his lips. If she wanted to cut to the chase, fine, he could do that. “Angel’s got himself a mansion. He’s staying in Crawford Street, on the edge of town.”

Buffy nodded, her expression grave. “Good to know. Thanks.” She moved to walk away again.

“Hey,” said Spike, putting a hand on her arm and then pulling back again when she stopped.

“What? There’s more?”

Spike faltered. He’d wanted to ask if she was okay but of course she wasn’t. He wanted to _make_ her okay, but he couldn’t.

“Thought I’d help you out,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow in question and he continued. “Could give you a history lesson, if you want. It would leave you with a better idea of what he’s really like. What to expect.”

“A rerun of the crimes of Angelus? No thanks. Giles has already given me a summary. I’ve had enough trauma for one week.”

That angered Spike, partly because it was true and partly because she was dismissing him. He’d been dismissed enough already for one week; Dru paying him even less attention than usual.

“You go into this unprepared, you’re gonna die, Buffy.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious, and he realized his error in calling her by her name. He was slipping; his feelings making his tongue loose. He needed to stay detached. Objective.

He turned to stomp away but this time Buffy touched a hand to his arm.

“Have you got anything useful?” she asked, quietly. Hopeful.

Spike paused. “Top tip? Do it soon. It’ll be better for everyone.”

Buffy dropped her hand. “You think it’s as easy as that?”

“I know it’s not,” he said, “But it needs to be. The longer he goes unchecked, the more damage he does, and the more bodies that pile up at his feet as you try and prepare yourself, the less chance you stand of ever forgivin’ yourself. You can prepare, but you won’t ever be ready. Dragging it out won’t help.”

Buffy looked at her feet and Spike hated how small she seemed, standing there. She was a woman. A whirlwind who should have the whole world bowing before her, not some worthless, normal child.

“You can do it,” he continued. “You will do it and you’ll get through the other side. It’ll feel like hell, but you can survive it, Buffy.”

He’d slipped into sentimentality, calling her by her name again, but fuck it, he was beyond feigning apathy and she didn’t seem to notice.

“You really think I can kill him?”

“Yes.”

Buffy scoffed. “When did you develop such faith in me, huh?”

“When I saw you,” he answered honestly. “I see what you’re made of, even if you don’t.”

“Yeah?” she stepped in close to his personal space, her whole stance challenging him. “What do you see?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “A warrior,” he said. “A bleeding heart. A bloody infuriating little chit, and a million things beside. Don’t have him makin’ you believe you’re nothing, Buffy.”

Shit but he was getting carried away, now. Saying much more than he usually even admitted to himself. It seemed to be giving her strength, though, so it was worth it.

He tried to get back on topic, swaying away from the dangerous subject matter of Buffy and back to Angel. “You leave it long enough, he’ll have some end of the world shite cooked up. You need to kill him now. If not tonight, then tomorrow.”

Buffy balked. “ _Tomorrow?_ ”

“What? You were waiting for an invitation? Waiting for the sting to stop smarting? No, Slayer, you don’t have that luxury. Ain’t you been listening? The situation isn’t gonna get any easier. Not until he’s gone. Use the hurt you feel – take it and stoke it. Let it fire you up – then strike.”

Buffy heaved a breath. “Fine,” she bit out. “I’ll talk through a plan with Giles in the morning. How did you get away, anyway? Isn’t someone watching you or something?”

“Not me,” said Spike. “Angel couldn’t give a shit about yours truly. He’s got a few spies on your place, of course. Hence meeting here.”

Buffy had started walking again but Spike’s words stopped her dead in her tracks. “There are vampires watching my house?”

“Of course,” Spike reiterated, irritated. “What did you expect? I’ve been trying to clue you in here, Summers, but take a little initiative yourself.”

“Spike, shut up,” Buffy snapped. “Focus. What are the spies for? Would they have followed me here?”

“No,” he answered. “They were told to watch you but keep back. Not engage.”

Buffy swallowed. “What about my mom?”

Spike tilted his head in confusion. “Are you sayin’ you haven’t whisked her away, safely out of town?”

\---

Joyce didn’t know what it was about grocery shopping, but it was one of those never-ending tasks that needed done again almost as soon as you put away the last set of bags. She mused on that as she unpacked the car, mostly to take her mind off the fact that Buffy wasn’t there for their usual ritual of doing it together. She was always good at hefting the heavy bags. Why had she never questioned that strength before?

She shook her head, the explanation she’d been given still not quite fitting in her brain. It answered some things but raised many more questions than that.

Joyce couldn’t accept it. She’d told Buffy as much, and Mr Giles; yelling at him for encouraging such ideas. Just what was he filling her head with? Vampires and demons and god knows what else. It was all too much, especially on top of the much more serious revelation of the days before.

Had she been too harsh in dealing with Angel’s admission that her little girl wasn’t a little girl anymore? Maybe, but what was she supposed to think?

Joyce shuddered. She decided that, actually, she didn’t want to think about any of it. Taking hold of the last bag, she nudged the car door closed with her boot and turned to find someone standing in her yard.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Normally, she wouldn’t be so rude, but hell, it had been a long week and this guy was on her property.

Whoever it was didn’t answer but stepped closer in a leer. There was something wrong with his face and his eyes were yellow. Joyce dropped the bag she was holding and backed up against the car just as Buffy came running down the street and started hitting the man. Another man was with her – one that Joyce had recognized before. He’d called himself a friend.

Joyce opened her mouth to yell a warning to Buffy that he was behind her, but he jumped into the fray and hit the stranger as well.

“Stop!” yelled Joyce, panic in her throat.

Her voice died when Buffy stabbed something through the chest of the stranger and he exploded right before her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

The plan was simple: use the element of surprise to storm Angel’s mansion during the day when he should be asleep and most vulnerable, all the while hoping to god that Spike held up his end of the deal to keep Drusilla out of the way. Oh, _and_ pray that Buffy’s mom let her come home when everything was said and done.

Peachy.

Buffy checked her bag of weapons a final time, trying to focus on each of them in turn, but she could not get her mother’s words out of her head.

After she saw the vampire, Joyce had screamed and ran in the house.

Buffy had tried to follow, but she had dead bolted the door and was still in hysterics as Buffy tried at first to tell her everything was all right from the front porch before finally breaking one of the glass panels and letting herself in.

Joyce had screamed again and thrown the bottle that had been in hand at the door, narrowing missing Buffy’s head. She looked somewhat relieved when she saw it was just her daughter, but not as much as Buffy would have liked.

The Slayer had expected her mom to say she was sorry or hug her or _something_ , but all she got was further admonishments for “scaring the life” out of her.

Buffy tried to be patient. She knew it was all a massive shock. But also, why was it such a shock? Her mom lived in Sunnydale where there were always rumors; always weird things happening. The local newspaper reported strange neck marks on dead bodies as regular as twice a week, sometimes.

As it stood, the Slayer’s patience wore out. When her mom still wouldn’t calm down, Buffy yelled back at her and it turned into probably the biggest fight of her life. Which, you know – giving her life, was saying a lot.

“We left our life in L.A. because of this,” Joyce had exclaimed. “I gave up my life for this madness! Everything I had built there. And your father–” she shook her head and lifted another bottle, touching this one to her lips.

“You gave up _your_ life?” said Buffy, not able to help herself. “I’m seventeen and have died already!”

Joyce stopped, mid-movement, and looked at her, her expression as if she was truly seeing her daughter for the first time ever. Nervously, she glanced from her to the door.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m not a vampire. They can’t come in unless you invite them, I told you that. Giles told you that.”

“You said you died,” Joyce reminded her, her voice shaking and raw from all the screaming.

Buffy took a deep breath. She really hadn’t meant to share that piece of information, especially not like that, but it was too late now. “I drowned a little,” she admitted. “Xander did C.P.R.”

Again, Joyce looked relieved. _Oh, good_ , Buffy could imagine her thinking. _Drowning is normal. I can handle drowning._

“You seriously don’t get any of this?” Buffy snapped. “Even now, you’re still trying to cling to ignorance.”

“No!” yelled Joyce. “You do not get to talk to me like that!”

“You threw a bottle at my head!” Buffy countered.

Joyce gave her a dismissive wave. “You broke in. I thought you were a monster.”

Buffy had to count to ten and ignore the almost overwhelming desire to point out that she’d only had to break in because her mother had locked her outside. With the monsters. Like, gee, she got panicked responses but things were getting ridiculous.

Joyce went to say something else but was stopped by Spike appearing at the door and clearing his throat. “Uh, sorry to intrude. Just had a point or two about tomorrow I’d like to run past you.”

Buffy turned to him, incredulous. “Seriously? You want to have this conversation now?”

He scowled. “Oh, right, of course. Let’s wait until _after_ the battle to discuss specifics. Or would you prefer I risk burnin’ my good self to a crisp to pop you another note before breakfast?”

Buffy crossed her arms, gave her mom a look, and then went back outside for a minute to grudgingly hear what he had to say.

“So I’m thinking,” he began, once the door was closed again, “That you should strike while it’s still light. After you get out of school. What would that be, four o’clock? If you aim for then, I’ll be ready an’ can give you a signal if it’s not gonna work and we need to re-strategize.”

“Okay, firstly,” said Buffy. “You don’t wear a watch. Secondly, what signal could you possibly give that wouldn’t risk tipping Angel off? And third, was this thought of yours really worth dragging me out here again for?”

Spike winked at her. “Mostly, I thought you could do with a breather in between rounds.”

Despite herself, Buffy sagged as a little tension left her body. “Fine,” she said. “So maybe I won’t rip your head off.”

“Much obliged, Slayer. I’ll be on my merry way. Four o’clock okay for you, though?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, “I think that’ll work. What’s the sign that I should abandon ship?”

“I’ll be shouting,” said Spike. “A lot. If all is quiet, all is well.”

Buffy nodded. “Okay, I can work with that. Thanks, Spike.”

It kinda felt weird thanking him, but he really had helped. That fact was even weirder, especially when you considered the little smile he flashed when he heard it.

Buffy tried not to consider it. She braced herself and went back inside to see her mom had got through a considerable amount of her wine while she’d been gone.

“Buffy,” she said resolutely. “This ends here. You give up this slayer business or you don’t stay here. I don’t need more trouble at my door.”

\---

Spike had watched Drusilla all morning. She’d picked up a small dog from god knows where and had been teasing it relentlessly until she fell asleep.

Once it was free of her grasp, Spike had tucked it aside. Like Buffy, Spike felt a strange affinity for the mutt. Poor beast, always at the mercy of others.

Ignoring his own need to sleep, he mused about what to do with the pup. If he left it behind it would probably starve and if he brought it with him, Dru would eventually get tired of her games and eat it.

Spike shuddered, wondering when exactly he had come to care about such injustices. He supposed the great injustices heaped upon himself had finally worn on him and engendered a bit of empathy for others in the same boat. Whatever the fuck he was supposed to do with that.

He shook his head to clear it and closed his eyes. He could sense the sun outside. By his reckoning, it was almost time to rock and roll.

_Good_ , he thought. He was more than ready to get the show on the road.

Just as he looked on Dru again, he felt the tingle at the edge of his senses to say Buffy was near. This was it, now or never. As soon as she was within a hair’s breadth of the door, he grabbed Dru’s arm and dragged her out from under Angel.

While they were momentarily confused and still half asleep, he threw a blanket over her and ran full pelt for the exit, passing Buffy in the hall, almost as if tagging her in.

Drusilla squirmed, Angel swore, and Buffy began clanging her great big sword around but Spike didn’t stop for any of it. He ran until he and Dru were safely in the car and then drove until she finally got free, a street or two away, and started hitting him.

Spike pulled over and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing until she passed out. He hated doing it but there hadn't been much choice beyond crashing the car or having her jump out and try running back to her daddy in the middle of the bloody daylight. Spike made sure she was lying fairly straight in her seat and belted her in then put the car back in drive.

Before hitting the road out of town, there was a pit stop he had to make.

\---

The woman had a look of caution on her face but her slight stumble had more to do with the amount of Scotch she had been imbibing rather than fear of the Big Bad on her doorstep.

“Look missus, I did my part of the bargain. Gettin’ out of Sunnyhell with my lady like I promised. If everythin’ isn’t all wallowin’ in hell ‘fore long, then the Slayer’s done her part too.”  

The woman just looked at him with owl-eyes.

“Girl’s had to snuff her first love. Bound to have issues. Needs her mum to step up and act like the grown up. Heard you tell the girl to not come home but she’ll need you now more than you need another drink.”

Spike produced the lapdog and thrust it at Mrs Summers.

“Time for the good-guys to take care of their own. Make everythin’ safe for puppies and Christmas and all.”

Joyce watched bemused as the frightening man marched off of her porch and got behind the wheel of a large black car. She absent-mindedly petted the small dog and tried to collect her wits.


	7. Chapter 7

Everything was officially wallowing in hell.

“Bad doggie!” Drusilla had screeched, throwing herself at Spike again the second he opened the car door to get back in. She had torn right through the seatbelt.

For a second, Spike thought she was angry about the actual mutt, but of course not. That would be too simple. She’d probably forgotten about the pooch already.

“Hey, watch it!”

He put a hand on her chest to push her back into her seat and give himself enough room to get into his, but she wasn’t having it. Drusilla scratched her nails at his face, drawing blood from his left cheek and barely avoiding gouging his eye out.

Spike seethed and shoved her away with more force. “You bloody bitch, don’t you see that I’m trying to help you?”

Finally, she backed up a little. “Help?” she repeated, the word caustic in her throat. “I see who you’re helping, Spike.” She covered her eyes and shuddered. “The Slayer. You’re all covered in her!”

Spike stared at her, his mutinous brain going in two wildly different directions as he opened his mouth to deny the implication at the same time as he took pleasure in imagining really being covered in Buffy.

It was a nice thought, that.

He shook his head, his vamp visage coming into play as he let out a low warning growl. “Not another word. Not another bloody word!”

And, to her credit, Drusilla didn’t labor the point. She just threw herself forward instead; flailing and screaming once more.

Spike grit his teeth and put his hands out in front of him to lock her arms at her side, but he wasn’t quick enough. Before he knew what was happening, she was at his throat, her nails all along the underside of his jaw.

Drusilla pulled at him as if trying to decapitate him with her bare hands. Except, Spike realized in horror, it wasn’t ‘as if’ that was her goal – she really was trying to end him.

The pain that sliced through his heart at the realization made him, for a second, consider just letting her finish the job, but self-preservation kicked in a moment later and the next time he shoved her away her head hit the passenger side window and broke through until her hair was hanging outside the car door.

The second after that, it was aflame, and the second after that, she was dust in his hands.

Spike stared at the suddenly empty air before him, too startled to cry.

“No,” he croaked, his eyes jerking from the emptiness to the window to his hands. There was an overwhelming desire to search for his sire, no matter that he watched her go. Logic lost all sense. Reality upended.

Did it really happen? Was Dru really gone? Surely, if he stabbed himself in the head, he’d wake up and it would all be a horrible nightmare.

\---

The fight had taken all Buffy had and still come within an inch of defeat. She panted, trying to regain her equilibrium, in the seconds that followed.

Angel’s dust coated her hands and arms.

Buffy gagged at the sight and tried to brush it off knowing that she’d probably never feel clean again. She thought about bleach. About bathing in it.

About drinking it.

Before that particular thought could fully take hold, Spike barreled in, yelling and swearing and waving a broken bottle. He was covered in blood and bruises.

Buffy jumped up, ready to fight but hoping she didn’t need to.

Spike shoved past her. “Where is he? Where is the bastard? I’ll kill him. I’ll tear his guts out, I’ll cut his cock off. I’ll–”

He stopped, dead, in front of the pile of ash on the floor and turned to Buffy, a lethal concoction of tears and rage in his eyes.

For maybe the first time ever, Buffy was scared of him.

“You killed him!” Spike yelled, like it was an accusation; like he hadn’t known it was the plan all along.

Buffy began to back away from him. “Spike?” she questioned tentatively. “What happened?”

His eyes bulged. “You!” he snapped. “You couldn't keep your knickers on. You unleashed the beast and you made her suffer. You caused all of this!”

Caught off guard with the force of his words, Buffy tried to back away faster only to stumble over something in the path behind her.

Spike leered over her, his ranting becoming even more irate until his teeth were not far from her face.

Buffy looked into his yellow eyes and saw the horror written there. It was then that she realized what must have happened.

She burst into tears.

Unable to stop herself and uncaring that she was about to die, Buffy covered her face with her hands and sobbed, letting it all out until either she ran herself dry or he finally snapped her neck.

The air Spike was panting against her throat seemed to come less frequent. Buffy risked glancing up at him and saw that he was stood there, a broken man. Not a monster. Not a demon. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but grief.

She stood up.

\--- 

Spike circled her, not knowing if he wanted to slice her open or cradle her in his arms. It was a long time before he trusted himself to speak. He hated the words he’d threw at her already. He hated himself for saying them. In the end, it was her tears that broke him. They broke through the torrent within him and made him see, once more, that she was a victim in it same as him.

Less deserving of wrath – more innocent – than him, unquestioningly.

She deserved a good death. A proper battle.

“I could take you out, Slayer. Give you a real good day.”

Even to his own ears, it almost sounded like he was suggesting a date, but he could tell Buffy had no doubt what he really meant.

“Good,” she said, defiantly.

A wicked grin split his still-fanged face, until her response sank in, and then everything fell away. “What did you say?”

“Good,” she repeated, tears starting to well in her eyes again. “I want you to do it. I don’t want to fight any more. I just want it all to end.”

“Slayer,” Spike warned, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was warning her of. Did he want to kill her or kiss her? Drain her dry, discard the body, or keep her with him forever? Keep torturing her forever? No, that would make him like Angel. He would never be like him. _Never_.

Buffy snapped at the hesitation. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“I…” Spike trailed off and shook himself. “Buffy, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just another disappointment.”

“Oi!”

“No, you are. It’s all talk. Oh, I’m going to kill you, and then you don’t. And, and, I love you, and I’ll never hurt you and then WHAM,” she struck a nearby table and sent the shattered pieces flying four ways at once. “It’s all about having no soul and making me hurt more than I ever have. And parents are supposed to always support you, right? Except they don’t and–”

“Buffy!”

“What?”

“Do you want to go for a drink?”


	8. Chapter 8

When Spike first suggested they go for a drink, Buffy hesitated, but not because any part of her wanted to say no.

“Come on,” he’d said, “Let’s both get sozzled. It’s the only thing for it.”

That’s when she had to admit, much to her shame, that she didn’t have any money. In the almost two weeks since the Angel thing started, Buffy had assessed her savings and make sure only to add to them with her meager allowance, just in case she was forced to leave town. Now that was looking likely, she couldn’t afford to waste any of her cash on getting drunk.

“My treat,” Spike reassured her, but she got the sense that maybe he wasn’t intending to pay for it either.

For better for worse, she followed him into the sewers that led to Willy’s.

“What about your car?” she’d asked on the descent, and he’d looked stricken before saying he was planning to torch it.

_Oh_ , she thought, realizing that’s where it must have happened. “Okay.”

\--- 

Spike couldn’t stop looking at her as she sat there, in the booth across from him, pulling faces every time she took a swig. He couldn't figure out why she’d said yes; why such a radiant creature was sat in a dank demon bar with him.

She’d lowered herself. Or had he done that? Mostly, he knew, it was down to Angel, but was he making things worse or bearable? He didn’t know. Thinking on it took too much brainpower.

He took the bottle when she handed it back. They were drinking from the same one. Again, he wasn't exactly sure why. It just seemed to happen that way. She hadn’t known what she wanted to order, so she snuck some of his. They rolled with it, passing the drink between them in companionable silence for the most part.

At one point, a group of rowdy JeinGa demons rolled in and tried to start something. Both Spike and Buffy stood up, ready to deal with them, but Willy somehow talked the situation down. The amiable stalemate of not moving and not talking having been disrupted, Buffy started glaring a hole through Spike.

“What?” he demanded.

“What are we doing?” asked Buffy.

Spike shrugged. “Drinkin’ ‘till it hurts less.”

“Then what?” she pressed.

He shrugged again. “Sleep, drink some more.”

Buffy groaned. “I should have just gone for the bar fight.”

Spike raised his eyebrows. “If you’re not having a good time, Slayer–”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, but it was half-hearted.

He gave her a wan smile, then Buffy looked ready to cry again. For whatever reason, that got Spike’s blood up.

“Don’t,” he said, the word coming out harsh. He looked away from her, trying not to think about the hurt of having her in front of him and what caused it.

“Don’t?” said Buffy. “Don’t have feelings? You think I can just shut them down, just like that?”

“You have to,” he said.

“Well, I can’t. You’ll have to deal with it.”

He looked at her again, returning the glare. “I don’t have to do jack shit.”

She shook her head. “Whatever. You don’t tell me what to do and I won’t tell you.”

“Fine,” he spat, and they fell into silence again, the companionable element of it all but gone. Buffy broke it by saying, offhand, that she didn’t even know why he was upset.

He balked at her. She reiterated her point. He called on all his strength not to murder her in her seat.

“Just why in the fuck should I not care that my whole soddin’ reason for existence is gone?”

Buffy didn’t flinch at him yelling. It only made her dig her heels in.

“You can't feel anything,” she said dismissively.

Spike felt his eyes blaze at her, even as they filled with tears. For everything he wanted to scream in her face, he found himself at a loss for where to start. He didn’t want to fight. Not with her. He was pretty sure she was only doing it so that, in some twisted way, she’d feel better about feeling worse.

He understood it, but that didn’t make him like it any better. Especially when she had to drag him into it and call his loyalty into question, as if he didn’t already feel shit enough for wanting to comfort her while Dru had been gone less than a few hours.

“You know what, Summers? You’re a self-righteous bitch.”

She flinched at that one. A thrill went through Spike in seeing it. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“You think I’m such a goody two shoes, huh? Do you even realize that I’m breaking the law being here? This is California, Spike. I’m not supposed to drink until I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh,” he said, because no, he didn’t know that at all. Why should he? When would such a tidbit of information ever become pertinent to his life?

_When you start wanting to shag an underage human_ , said some part of him. He shoved that part away.

“I’m not talking about that,” he continued aloud. “You’re above all that normal nonsense about drink and drugs and sex and whatall. I’m talking about justice. Your _sacred duty_ and how you think it makes you better than everyone else.” He said the words ‘sacred duty’ as if they scalded his tongue on the way out.

Buffy stared at him, open-mouthed. “I don’t even know where to _begin_ with how wrong all of that was. And what do you mean I’m above drink and drugs?”

“And sex,” Spike repeated, because she’d left it out.

She ignored his attempts to get it added to the list again. “I’m not above the law, Spike. Not any of them.”

“Piffle,” he said, waving a hand.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “That isn’t even what we were talking about, anyway.”

“Wasn’t it?” Spike questioned. “I’m pretty sure you were just pointing out how me, a much lower being, couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through.”

Buffy looked at the table, focusing her eyes on a beermat that apparently was shifty, because she started shredding it with deft fingers like it was some foe that needed neutralized.

Without meeting his gaze again, she said quietly, “Drusilla didn't love you. You told me that.”

He had told her that. He’d hoped, at the time, it would go a ways toward making her feel better about herself and more wary of Angel, if she knew how much he could break a person.

Spike hated her for bringing it up now, no matter that he understood it was just her way of making sense of things. Of talking about his things so she could figure out her own.

He swigged more bourbon. “Her lack of feelings didn’t make mine any less real.”

Buffy frowned at the beermat before her, as if she couldn't figure out why it was in bits.

“What you and Peaches had wasn’t real either,” Spike continued.

Buffy’s head snapped up. “I loved him!”

“No, you didn’t,” Spike challenged. She reached out to slap him but he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her closer, saying straight to her face, “You can’t love someone who doesn’t exist.”

Buffy pulled back and eyed him wearily. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, the whole thing was a farce. You know it. You must know it now, right? He never was the man you fell for. Not really.”

“So?” said Buffy.

“So it kind of invalidates the whole love thing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” said Buffy.

“Good,” said Spike. “Glad we’re agreed.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You were talking shite. I turned it back on you. Wasn’t long before you were singing my tune. Hopefully now you’ll let it drop, give us both a bit of bloody peace.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed deeper, like she was staring at the equations of the universe, trying to wrap her head around the unfathomable. Finally, she said, “I think you’re drunk.” Then she got up to head for the ladies room and fell over her own feet.

Spike laughed and picked her up, his hands under her armpits.

She wriggled against him and he stilled in trying to get her walking again. They looked deep in each other’s eyes, all bickering gone.

“I hurt,” said Buffy.

“Yeah,” said Spike in a sigh. “Me too.”

The bar had emptied out and there was no one to hear them but Willy, but the confessions were whispered nonetheless. The confessions brought them closer. He didn't let go of her. The moment stretched, then finally Spike broke eye contact.

“I should get you home to your mum.”

Buffy looked disappointed but didn’t argue.

Almost absently, as if just for his own benefit, he added, “Mums are important.”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. They didn’t speak again the whole walk back to her house. Spike watched her go inside, wishing he could go with her, stand shoulder to shoulder as she faced what would undoubtedly be another hard thing at the end of the hardest day of the most difficult few weeks of her life.

It was only after a minute of standing there, thinking about how she would fare at the end of it, that he realized he had nowhere to go himself; no one to go to. No path laid out for him.

"Bugger," he said to the empty street.


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy crept in the house as quietly as she could only to find that her attempts at stealth were both terrible in her current state and unnecessary.

Joyce was sitting up, waiting for her, holding a dog for some reason. Though Buffy wondered if that part was a hallucination.

“Come in here,” said Joyce from the living room. “Please.”

Buffy swallowed, left her bag of weapons at the front door, and entered the room. Her mom, she noticed, couldn't look at her. _Well, that bodes well._

She deflated into a seat, sure she knew what was coming.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” said Joyce.

_Yeah_ , thought Buffy. _Pack your bags, you’re outta here kid._

Joyce took a long, deep breath and finally looked up from the puppy who was most definitely there, asleep on her lap. “I don’t know how to say this but I think maybe I should have been honest with you a long time ago.”

Buffy gulped. Her mouth was dry. “Okay?” _Is this the part where she tells me I’m adopted, or that she wishes she never had me?_

“Buffy, when we were in L.A. and you got in all that trouble, you tried to tell me and your dad about vampires and we got you checked over by experts. You got admitted to a clinic, do you remember that?”

_As if I could forget._ “Sure,” said Buffy, though she didn’t think her mom actually heard her.

Joyce’s eyes were glazed over, but Buffy didn’t get the impression that she’d been drinking any more since she last saw her. _More than I can say for myself._

“The thing is, Buffy. When all of that happened…” she wrung her hands. “Oh, god, I don’t know if I can actually admit it out loud.”

Buffy sat forward. “You’re really wigging me here.”

Joyce eyes focused on her again. It was the first time Buffy realized she had been crying. Any sobering up she still had to do was done in that moment.

“Mom? What is it? You can tell me.”

“I was attacked, Buffy. By a vampire back in L.A.”

Buffy gasped but couldn’t say anything.

Joyce continued, “It was around that time where those things were happening with you, and me and your dad were falling apart. I’ve been sat here thinking about it, and I think maybe he came after me because of who you were, but at the time all I knew was panic. I agreed to let you get sent away because–” a sob escaped her throat and fresh tears trailed earnestly down her cheeks. “Because if you were mad then it meant it wasn’t really real, and if it wasn’t real, then I didn’t have to be scared.

“Part of me was glad to move here to get away from all that. I wanted it all in the fog of the distant past. But then you tried to tell me again, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I think something broke inside me. To hear not just that that world existed, but that you were a part of it… it scared me. I found myself being scared of you. No one wants to fear their own child. But the alternative was that, if the problem wasn’t you, then it was my fault. I had made you. What if I made you wrong and it was because of me that all of this was happening?”

“How did you get away?” asked Buffy, because she couldn’t focus on the emotional truth of what she was saying. Not yet. She needed to get her head around the practical first.

“I was close to home,” said Joyce.

“Ah,” said Buffy, as something clicked in her brain. “Let me guess. You ran in the house and dead bolted the door?”

Joyce’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry I locked you out. There’s no excuse. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“I get it,” said Buffy, even as she tried to process all of it. “God, I’m sorry.”

Joyce pinned her to the chair with a sharp look. “No, _I’m_ sorry,” she said forcefully. “You have suffered because I couldn’t handle this, and at no point during any of it did I actually think about how it was affecting you. Oh, Buffy, I don’t deserve it, but can you ever forgive me?”

Something in her tone – heartbreak, maybe, or tension – made the dog stir. Once he got one eye open, he saw Buffy and fully came to life, wriggling off Joyce’s lap and waddling over to the Slayer. As he licked her hand, Buffy said, “I forgive you, Mom. Of course I do.”

They both broke into a fresh set of tears and Joyce moved to sit beside her daughter on the couch, hugging her close. After a while, when her curiosity could be held at bay no longer, Buffy asked why they suddenly had a dog.

“Spike,” said Joyce, as if that explained everything. Buffy guessed maybe it did.

“Did he come with a name?” asked Buffy.

“Uhh,” Joyce scratched her head. “Sunshine, I think he said.”

Buffy smiled. “Sunshine Summers. Kinda ridiculous but I like it.” She held the dog up and addressed it directly. “Welcome to the family.”

\---

From his perch outside the living room window, Spike smiled at the exchange. He was flooded with relief that it all went well and Buffy hadn’t been left further hurt or, worse, out on her ear. He’d had to make sure she was at least okay in that regard. Now that he had, though, his thoughts returned to trying to right his own situation.

The DeSoto wasn’t far from the Summers’ house, as he hadn't had a chance to move it before Dru launched into her assault.

When she was gone, and it had sunk in that she was gone, Spike had got out and ran through the sewers back to the mansion. He couldn’t drive the car then any more than he could sleep in it now.

He’d told Buffy he was going to torch it and that was still the best plan he could come up with, but he didn’t want to do it in the middle of the street where some well meaning neighbor was likely to call emergency services and get the Slayer out of her nice, warm beddy-byes.

Deciding to ignore it for now and figure out some way to get it towed elsewhere come daylight, Spike’s thoughts returned to the mansion. He wanted to burn it down along with his crypt, but if setting fire to all the places that caused him pain was going to be his chosen coping mechanism, then half of Europe would be ablaze and he’d still be no closer to having a place to kip.

Only now did he see the error of his ways in not putting down any real roots in the town or making any friendships. He’d been too focused on finding a cure for Drusilla for any of that. But now who could he turn to to beg the use of their floor for the night?

Head heavy with wishes of things he could have done differently and heart full of longing, Spike made his way back to Willy’s.

He was glad, a little annoyed, and a lot surprised, when the barkeep took pity on him and said he could stay there if he promised to not be any trouble.

Spike resented the pity but accepted it anyway, installing himself in the same corner Buffy had been wedged in, not long before. The scent of her both soothed and ignited something within him as he went to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy woke up with a blinding headache. At first, she rolled over to bury her head in the pillow in an attempt to block out the sunshine hurting her eyes, but the sound of her movement seemed to alert Sunshine to her semi-consciousness state and he began to whine and scratch at the door so Buffy forced herself up to let him in.

She lifted the puppy into bed with her, where he snuggled against her and promptly fell fast asleep. “You were waiting for me to get up, huh?” Buffy whispered, amused.

Sunshine snuffled a reply and Buffy gave the soft fur of his ears a stroke. It was nice to not wake up completely alone, even if she did feel like death.

A shiver ran through her. Alone with death. That was quite the thought. In an instant, everything came back to her, from killing Angel to getting drunk.

Buffy groaned and sank further into the bed, still clutching Sunshine to her chest. She had begun to doze off again when Joyce checked on her.

Her mom tutted about having the dog in bed with her, but didn’t make her relinquish her hold on him. “Are you feeling alright?”

Buffy scrunched up her nose. “Physically? No.” Emotionally, she was actually dealing amazingly well. She had Spike to thank for that. Buffy made a mental note to do just that, then realized she didn’t know where he actually was. She was sure he wouldn’t want to go back to the mansion, but she wasn’t sure he would have stayed in town at all. That thought hurt but she didn’t dare dwell on it.

Joyce was frowning at her. “Maybe you should stay home. Just for today. You look like you need the rest.”

Buffy smiled weakly at her. “Rest good.” God bless her mom still being semi-oblivious and not noticing the distinct smell of a brewery on her breath.

Joyce nodded. “Okay then. I’ll send a note with you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Buffy. The thanks were for more than just letting her stay home and Joyce seemed to get that. Buffy was so grateful that things were okay between them again. Yet another thing to appreciate Spike for.

Taking the day off or not, Buffy got up and very quietly made herself breakfast after her mom left for work. She didn’t really want to get out of her jammies, much less leave the house, but she did want to find Spike.

_Mmm_. The thought of hanging out with Spike in the house, in jammies, was appealing. Buffy shook her head at her wayward brain and Sunshine looked at her, as if he knew exactly what was on her mind.

“No judgements, okay?”

He gave her a head tilt and she laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Spike. Do you think you could track him, eh boy?”

Sunshine didn’t seem at all sure about that one, but Buffy gave him a little bit of her bacon anyway.

After she ate and dressed, Buffy stopped by the pet store to get him a leash and harness which he seemed pretty happy about. She set him down and he gnawed at his restraints for a moment, then wagged his tail and began walking. Buffy figured her mom could get the larger items of a dog bed and other accessories when she had the car with her.

Together, she and Sunshine strolled the short distance to Willy’s. Buffy had just been planning to ask him if he’d seen Spike, but there he was, snoozing in the corner.

Relief flooded through her. She tried hard to not let it show on her face.

The Vampire perked up the second her shadow crossed his table, almost as if he had a sixth sense for her presence. Which, yeah, probably he did.

“Here for another round, are you?”

She smiled despite herself. “A world of no. I think it’s better for everyone if Buffy and alcohol go back to being unmixy.”

Spike got up and shook out his coat, which he’d been using as a pillow. Sunshine got a scratch behind the ears. “Your mum let you keep the pooch, I see.”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s pretty cute. How could she say no?”

Spike smiled back at her, then caught a group of demons eyeing Sunshine up as a tasty snack and growled at them.

Sunshine growled too.

Buffy didn’t know if she found it adorable, funny, or hot. Deciding not to decide at all, she suggested they leave.

“And go where?” asked Spike, even as he put his coat on.

“Well, uh, I thought you could come to my house, maybe? Just for the day. You know, because it’s just as good a place as the bar, and—”

Spike grinned and she stopped rambling. “Sounds nice, pet. You won’t mind takin’ Sunshine through the tunnels?”

“Nope,” said Buffy, handing him over. “Because you’re carrying him. I am _not_ cleaning stinky puppy sewer feet.”

Spike laughed and gave Sunshine another scratch.

By the time they got back to Revello Drive, Buffy had to let herself in in a hurry as the phone was ringing off the hook. She answered it still panting.

“Buffy, you’re there?” said Giles, a little out of breath himself. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she answered, frowning. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“The things with Angel. I understand they went to plan?”

Oh. Buffy bit her lip. Had that only been a day ago? It felt like a week, or an eternity. “Yeah, everything’s fine. He…” she swallowed and looked down. “Angel’s gone.”

Giles took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I realize this must be difficult for you.”

“It is,” she admitted, which was the truth. But again it hit her how it wasn’t half as bad as it should be. Not with Spike around. For a vampire, his presence was weirdly soothing. “Look, Giles, can we talk about this later? I’ll be back at school tomorrow.”

“Err, right,” he agreed. “Tomorrow. Do take care to rest well, won’t you?”

Buffy promised that she would and hung up.

There was so much she wanted to tell him, but the words just hadn’t come. It was Spike she wanted to talk things through with. It was Spike who would understand.

It was Spike making a lot of noise in her kitchen. Buffy walked in to find him clattering around with mugs and a saucepan.

“What are you doing?”

He looked bashful. “I thought maybe I’d have a go at making you cocoa. You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Buffy, but she was smiling again.

They bantered back and forth for a while, just enjoying each other’s company, not really talking about anything serious. Spike taught Sunshine a few tricks, taught Buffy how to play poker, and – weirdly – she painted his nails.

If anyone had told her a month before that she’d be hanging out with a guy like this, she’d have called them a damn liar. Even when things had been good with Angel, she never would have seen herself being like this with him.

Good with Angel was on a different scale to Good with Spike. There was zero comparison. So why did her brain insist on obsessing over it? It was like she couldn’t stop. Every time Spike did or said something nice, or took her feelings into account without even thinking about it, Buffy found herself taking a mental note. _Angel wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have noticed this. He wouldn’t care about that other thing._ It was like a litany in her brain.

Buffy groaned under the weight of her thoughts.

Spike looked away from the TV screen to consider her. “Something the matter?”

“This day,” she said. “It’s too perfect.”

Spike frowned. “A fella could take that the wrong way, you know.”

Buffy groaned again and wriggled in her seat. Sunshine whimpered in protest of the movement from his place between them on the couch. “Just a lot of think-y thoughts. It doesn’t matter.”

Spike paused the movie and turned to face her properly. Sunshine, clearly upset at the further disruption to his puppy sleep, got up and wandered off towards the kitchen, leaving no barrier between them anymore.

Buffy nibbled on her bottom lip, everything that had been on her mind suddenly missing in action.

As if on instinct, Spike leaned closer. Buffy closed her eyes and leaned in too. She was so close, she could smell marshmallows on his breath.

Then Joyce walked in.


	11. Chapter 11

With an almost scary level of calm, Joyce asked Buffy if she could have a word with her in the hallway.

Buffy stood up and walked out there, like a prisoner going to the gallows. She didn’t dare look at Spike.

Now that she’d backed out of the doorway and was no longer in Spike’s line of sight, Joyce’s calm broke. She set her keys down on the hall table with more force than intended and crossed her arms just to stop her hands from shaking.

“You’re feeling better, I see.”

Buffy trained her eyes on her feet and Joyce noticed her nails were freshly painted with her the limited edition, designer polish she’d gotten from her sister for her birthday. The sight made her brain do a kind of double take, because she knew for a fact that Buffy was awful at painting her own toenails – she usually didn’t bother because of how fiddly and time consuming she found it. So that meant that the man with the long black coat and punk haircut sitting on her couch painted them for her, and that was just too weird to accept.

Not a man, she corrected herself. Vampire. _A punk vampire painted my daughter’s toenails and was about to kiss her and do god knows what else on my couch._ Joyce took a measured breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “Who is he and what is he doing here? Is he your boyfriend?”

Buffy struggled for words a few times before finally saying, “He’s Spike. You’ve met Spike before, Mom.”

“I’ve met him, but I don’t know him. How well do you know him?” She was almost scared to ask.

“I trust him,” said Buffy. “He has nowhere else to go. He helped me with Angel, and lost someone too.”

“How is he different from Angel?” asked Joyce.

Buffy’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “He’s worlds apart from Angel!”

“How?” repeated Joyce, forcing her tone to stay even.

“I… he’s…” Buffy stammered. “He’s different, okay? I can’t explain it, but if you got to know him, you’d see.”

Joyce frowned. She had to concede that her daughter had more knowledge of vampires than she did, but she was also young and impressionable. It took a lot of effort, but she forced herself not to go with her gut and throw Spike out and ground Buffy. That was the old Joyce. The new Joyce listened. She was more understanding.

“We’re going to talk about this more later,” she said after a moment.

“Okay.” Buffy bit her lip. “And now?”

“Now it’s time to put dinner on. You set an extra place and we’ll see what kind of man he is.”

\---

Once more, words failed Buffy. She’d completely lost track of time and had been blindsided by her mom coming home. Which was stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ What was she doing? She’d been about to kiss Spike. Or he’d been about to kiss her, but she was into it, but none of it was right and now she’d have to go back into her living room and ask him to stay for dinner. _Oh, god!_ What would he think? What would he _say_?

“He does eat, right? I mean, human food?”

Buffy stared blankly at her mother. It took her a moment, but she picked up the thread of the conversation again. “Oh, uh, yeah. He does, yes.” _And the mental image of him eating an ungodly number of marshmallows is so not helpful right now. Stupid brain!_

“Right,” said Joyce. “Well, go on then.”

Buffy swallowed and left her mom to return to Spike on the couch, but when she got there, he was standing; posed as if he’d been pacing but had stopped when he heard her coming.

_Play it cool, Buffy._

“I’m guessing you heard a lot of that, right?”

He nodded but the action was terse. It made all of the butterflies in Buffy’s stomach wilt.

“Are you okay?”

Spike shook his head.

“Okayyy…” said Buffy. “Are you gonna answer me with actual words, or have we reverted to total silent treatment? Because you’re starting to wig me out here.”

He considered her for a moment, his features decidedly gloomy. “What’s to say?”

Buffy had to actively fight against the stream of words that automatically presented themselves on the tip of her tongue. She chose which ones she let out carefully. “How about everything? You’re gonna tell me I’m wrong in thinking there’s a lot to talk about here?”

Spike frowned, then sighed, then sat heavily onto the couch and put his head in his hands. Inspire confidence within Buffy it did not.

“What are we doing?” he asked, not looking up at her.

Buffy considered sitting beside him but resisted the urge, for now. “I thought that was my line.”

One hand fell away from his face and he peaked a look at her, his eyes narrowed.

“Hey!” said Buffy, “Don’t give me that look. You leaned into me, Mr Lean-er guy!”

Spike’s other arm dropped to his side and his eyes rolled. “What did you think was the bloody problem?”

Again, Buffy was stumped. When she couldn’t figure out a single way to respond, he went on to say, “I know what I did. I’m sorry.”

Oh. This was a regretting thing? But they hadn’t even really done anything to regret. And she knew regret. It didn’t usually come across so… hostile?

“I don’t get it,” she said at last.

“I’m a berk,” said Spike. “A prat. A bloody moron.”

“Hey!” Buffy said again, hating how much she was stung by his attitude. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like all that long since Angel was making jokes about her being bad at kissing and… other things.

Spike stood up again. “Look, Buffy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be messin’ you about. But, well, I am a mess, aren’t I? Not sure what I even expected.”

Buffy took a deep breath and rallied her bravery. If she was to put herself out there again, she’d need as much of it shored up as possible.

“My mom is making us dinner,” she said calmly. Completely reasonably, as if her heart wasn’t simultaneously doing summersaults and disintegrating in her chest. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Spike opened his mouth but she held up a hand.

“Not in vague terms, please, because I’m reeling here. Five words or less.”

He raised his eyebrows and she indicated that he could go ahead.

“Err, right,” he began. Buffy could pinpoint the moment he realized he’d just used two of his word quota. His eyes went a little wild for a moment, and she couldn’t help but adore how seriously he was taking it. God help her, but she was falling hard for him, and none of it was right. She was pretty sure he was trying to figure out how to say he didn’t want her; that he was just messing with her; that she was a fool.

Huh. ‘April Fools’ would work. It said it succinctly, even if it was the wrong time of year. Buffy heaved a sigh just as Spike did the same. He smiled at her and the tension eased slightly.

Again, Buffy found her voice. “If you don’t want me,” she said, equal parts courageous and terrified. “Just say the word. It’s too late for my pride, but you could still walk away with—”

She stopped talking as Spike broke into a deep, rolling belly laugh. Suddenly, all the warm feelings she had for him turned sour and she wanted to smack him in the mouth. “What?” she ground out. “Am I that big of a joke?” She figured that she probably was, between throwing herself and Angel and now Spike, but she honestly expected better from him than to point it out.

Spike shook his head. “If I don’t _want_ you?” he repeated, his laughter continuing on to take on a kind of manic edge. “Buffy…” he trailed off and closed his eyes for a second before taking control of himself. “The problem, Buffy, is that I _do_ want you. That I can’t walk away, even if…” he shook his head again.

Buffy frowned. “Even if what? I don’t understand what’s happening here?”

“I’m really hammin’ this up,” exclaimed Spike. “I’m not tryin’ to lead you a merry dance. But that is what I’m doin’. That’s why I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to stop.”

Buffy’s brow creased further, but she allowed him to ramble on, hoping he’d make sense sooner or later, five words be damned.

In a seemingly complete change of tack, he said, “Drusilla is dead. Dust on the wind not two days ago, and here I am – with you – havin’ this day which is… how did you put it? Too perfect? Yeah, I get that. I was getting’ so caught up, see? I forgot how you must be in all this. It’s too soon. We’re grievin’ and… and—”

“And?” Buffy pressed when it seemed like he couldn’t will himself to go on any further.

“And I’m the worst kind of creature,” he said. “The lowest of low, between man or vamps, because someone I devoted myself to for more than a century is gone, and all I can keep thinkin’ of is how I’m losin’ my mind fallin’ in love with you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Spike silently cursed himself the second he admitted to it. He probably would have tried shoving the words back down his throat if he’d had half a chance, but Buffy just about managed enough time to let a startled “Oh!” past her lips when Joyce interrupted them – again – wanting to know why the Slayer still hadn’t set the bleedin’ table.

He could have staked himself right then and taken Joyce happily along to hell with him for the ride. It was a sadistic kind of timing she had. Downright cruel.

As it was, he and Buffy looked awkwardly at each other for a single moment, so much hanging heavy between them, then she went off to do as she was bid. It only left reality more time to sink in, and god that was even worse.

He’d buggered it up, he was sure. But he’d been tryin’ _not_ to do that. He’d been actively trying to explain that he’d caught a hold of himself and was gonna lay off a bit. Go easy. Not push her and not get ahead of himself.

Damn, but he’d lost all sense. He was still the same blighted fool for love he’d always been, but gods his heart ached; shriveled thing that it was.

In truth, he conceded that he probably couldn’t have hidden his true feelings for long even if he did have a bit of wit about him, but he wished he’d told her more earnestly. Buffy deserved love declared to her with intent. Sentimentality. Romance. All that rot.

Yeah, so, he was an idiot. The question now was, where did they go from here? He considered leaving, but that wouldn’t be right. As difficult as it would be, he needed to face up to what he’d said. Because he did mean it, after all. Despite the lacking delivery, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind as to the authenticity of the words.

Falling in love with the Slayer. Wow. It still melted his head. He’d really landed himself in it this time. And what’s more, he reckoned Dru had seen it comin’ all along. So many little comments she’d made now clicked in his brain.

Had she known she was going to die? That – he swallowed just thinking about it – that he would kill her? No matter what else, he was sorry for it. Some insidious part of himself whispered that he’d meant to do it, because of how things with Buffy were – subconscious foresight about how it might make things easier, practically speaking, to not have Dru around complicating things – but he knew it wasn’t true.

Spike felt sick even so. Once more, he wanted to run into the night and keep running until the sun burned him up. It was what he deserved for his part in Dru’s demise, but it wasn’t fair to Buffy.

Buffy Summers. Despite his grief, thinking on her name brought a smile to his lips. He wanted to worship her; wanted to devote himself to her in all the ways he had done for Dru – and in all the ways Dru had never let him give more.

What Angel had done to her had meant she could never have been anyone else’s fully. Spike was still equal parts livid about that and eternally grateful Buffy hadn’t been damaged to the same degree.

Still, she bore the emotional scars. He could see that, plain as day. All the while he was lettin’ his mouth run riot, he’d been able to see every fear Angel had planted within her bloom across her face.

Spike wanted to kiss those scars – follow the roots down and touch some part of her was still hers; not sullied by… He shook his head at the mixed metaphor, the thought trailing off. He was getting carried away again. Completely lost.

Not _entirely_ unhappy about it.  

\---

After she finished placing napkins on plates, Buffy went back to the living room to try and get at least another few seconds talking to Spike on his own, but he was so deep in thought, he was oblivious to her approach. She stood in the doorway instead, just watching everything play out on his face. How raw his emotions were made her nervous. Terrified, even.

Because he’d said—

And she was sure he meant it. The way he said the words. They were true. They were… something she couldn’t quite allow herself to think about. Not yet.

She considered running away, but where would she go? To the back porch where he would find her and they’d have another heart to heart? It didn’t exactly sound like a terrible plan, but what then? Could she really give herself over to what was between them? She’d been willing to, not a half hour before, but that little time and Spike’s words suddenly made everything real.

He was right about things being fast and messy, especially so soon after everything with Angel and Drusilla went down. Was it terrible that part of her didn’t care? That she wanted to take comfort in Spike? Probably. The bad timing was probably what made it so enticing, but another part of Buffy had to admit some attraction had been there before that. When he’d said he wanted her, her blood rose to her cheeks and it took everything in her not to reach for him again.

She still wanted to reach for him now, despite that other part of her that wanted to run. Her mom’s earlier questions echoed in her head and made everything even more clouded.

Before she could make a decision about interrupting Spike’s thoughts, Joyce called them both to the table. Spike looked up and saw her standing there. A smile dusted his lips. He didn’t say anything as he walked past Buffy to the dining room, but she shivered when his arm lightly brushed past hers.

There was an idle thought about feeling like a teenage girl in love, which made Buffy’s eyes bug out as soon as it fully registered in her brain. Because she _was_ a seventeen-year-old slayer who had feelings for a vampire. She was young, but she also had life experience. Did she have enough experience of love? She used to think so but now wasn’t so sure. Either way, she wasn’t attaching that word to her own feelings. Not yet, at any rate. For now, she focused all her attentions on spooning soup into her bowl and not spilling it when her mom asked Spike some pointed question or other. Buffy loved that she was trying to make sense of things, but the process left a lot to be desired.

“Have you been a vampire long?” asked Joyce, using her best polite-yet-actively-judging-you mom voice.

Spike started to reply that time was relative to an immortal and who was to say how long constituted ‘long’ when a look from Buffy had him stop midsentence and admit to being “a little over a hundred” instead.

Buffy winced, belatedly realizing that the direct answer hadn’t been any better. She could tell that Spike was at least _trying_ to impress her mom, though, so that was nice.

“So you’re younger than Angel was?” Joyce continued.

Buffy almost choked. Spike set down his bread roll and butter knife.

“Angel was older than that, wasn’t he?” Joyce now asked Buffy, looking between her and Spike as if it was not one of the most awkward things she could have brought up.

“Yes,” said Spike, his tone also perfectly polite while conveying his discomfort.

Buffy decided it would be best to opt for the truth again and have it out sooner rather than later. “Angel was the vampire that sired Drusilla, the vampire who then turned Spike.”

Joyce frowned, paused, then asked, “This Drusilla… is she still around?”

Oh, boy was it going to be a long night.


	13. Chapter 13

Buffy gasped when her mother made mention of Drusilla, which made Joyce turn to her with concern. Her gaze leaving him gave Spike the moment he needed to school his features, and by the time Joyce was looking between him and Buffy again, he had gotten over the worst of the pang in his chest.

She asked what the problem was.

He answered slowly and carefully, measuring each of the words before they left his mouth.

“Drusilla and I were together. For a long time – all of the hundred-plus years I knew her – I was her…” he cleared his throat. “I was _hers_. That was until recently, when Angelus came back to the fore. She…” he blew out a breath and steadied his gaze. “She’s gone now.”

Joyce put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She stood up and poured him a drink. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Spike accepted the glass and took a long sniff of the amber liquid before touching it to his lips.

“I think maybe a break from questions would be for the best,” Buffy said gently.

Joyce nodded and sat down again only to jump to her feet a second time. “I should check on the meat. We’re having steak in garlic butter, then I thought we could—oh!” she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Garlic butter! I’ve only just thought! I’m sorry. I’ll—”

“It’s okay, Ms Summers, I can eat garlic.”

“You can?” Buffy and Joyce asked in unison. They shared a look then both turned their eyes back to Spike. He smiled despite himself, relieved the tension had broken again.

“It stings some,” he admitted, “Gives the meal a bit more bite, you know? Some vamps consider it a delicacy. Myth’s only around because Drac didn’t like it.”

He realized Buffy and Joyce were still staring at him and stopped talking. After a second, the Slayer asked if Dracula was really real.

“I thought the myth was him.”

“Sadly not,” said Spike, while Joyce nodded her head absent-mindedly. She hovered closer to the door.

“Steak will be alright? You’re sure?” she asked.

Spike appreciated her remorse, knowing what it was to put his foot in it. He bit back a joke about liking his meat rare. “Steak will be fine, Ms Summers.”

Still clearly mortified, she forced a smile. “Call me Joyce, please.”

Spike raised his glass in salute. “Cheers, Joyce.”

She gave a final nod and left the room. Buffy made sure she was out of earshot before she apologized for her.

“It’s fine,” said Spike.

“It’s not,” said Buffy.

Spike smiled. “Okay, so it’s not. But I’m the big bad. I’ve had worse thrown at me.”

Buffy was still frowning. “My mom doesn’t mean it, you know. She’s just wary.”

“She should be,” said Spike, matching her serious expression once more. “It’s not rainbows and kittens we’re dealing with. You’ve already been hurt once.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so she stayed quiet. It wasn’t long until Joyce came back in the room again. The steak and dessert – apple pie – went down well, without incident. It was coming to the part of the evening Spike was most worried about: the end, where his fate would be decided.

Throughout the second and third courses, Joyce had gotten a hold of herself enough to engage in light conversation again. Spike asked her about the gallery and Buffy gave the briefest of updates about things coming up at school.

When the plates were washed and put away, Joyce poured Spike another drink, half a glass of wine for herself, then hesitated before also pouring Buffy half a glass. Buffy blinked in surprise but Spike could tell she was touched by the gesture. Her mum was acknowledging she was growing up, even if it was clear she still didn’t quite want her to.

Finally, in the moment of truth, Joyce gave her blessing for Spike to stay over until he found his feet. Greatly relieved, he expected to be set up on a cot in the basement and clearly Buffy did too, because she offered to fetch sheets for it, but Joyce was having none of it.

“If he’s a guest under my roof, he can stay in the guest bedroom. It is what it’s there for,” she said, as if to dissuade Buffy from disagreeing with her.

As if Buffy _would_ disagree with her.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, giving her a hug. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Joyce went on to say that the invitation was on the condition that there was no slipping between bedrooms during the night.

Buffy turned scarlet. “Mom!”

“What?” said Joyce. “You wanted to be treated like an adult. I’m acknowledging that you have adult needs, I’m just asking you not to act on them while in my home. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

Again, Buffy tried and failed to respond with anything other than an exclamation of “ _Momm!_ ”

Spike knew that he should be stepping in to say there was nothing for her to worry about, but he honestly wasn’t so sure that was true so he kept quiet. Soon enough, they all headed upstairs where they shared an awkward round of goodnights and went three separate ways – Joyce to her room, Spike to his, and Buffy to the bathroom. He could hear her splashing water on her face.

Poor girl. The evening hadn’t been easy on either of them, but he was used to feeling humiliated. As Spike replayed the day over in his mind, he mused on what he could have said or done better to make things easier on her.

He tried to sleep but was too unsettled. The thoughts wouldn’t stop and his bloodlust was up. He wasn’t used to spending so much time with humans and, despite having a full stomach, couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d satiated himself properly.

About an hour after all the lights went out, Spike got up again. By the sound of it, Joyce was asleep but Buffy hadn’t quite managed to settle either. As he crept out of his room and approached her door, Spike raised his hand to knock only to hold back at the last moment. It wasn’t worth the risk of waking Joyce and bringing hell down upon them.

Seeing as he also couldn’t slip in unannounced and, since he wasn’t sure what he planned to say anyway, he turned away.

\---

After an hour of trying to sleep, Buffy abandoned any hope of finding it. She got up and went to her bedroom door, where she hesitated.

The tingle at the back of her neck told her Spike was on the other side but, when she opened the door, she found the hallway empty. Senses haywire, she ignored the logical step of checking his room to see if he’d gone back in there and went downstairs instead.

It was dark and empty, but she was pretty sure he’d come this way. Giles had been trying to get her to trust her instincts more, so she slipped a coat on over her pajamas and went outside where, sure enough, Spike was making his way down the street.

Buffy followed him, ready to yell at him for throwing her mom’s hospitality back in her face after it had taken so much to get him invited to stay in the first place, but figured out what he was doing just in time to stop herself.

As he approached his car, he paused and closed his eyes for a minute. Buffy watched as he then shook himself and reached inside – for the stick shift, she was pretty sure – before going back around to the front of the car and placing his hands on the hood.

Silently, Spike began pushing the car down the street. Buffy let him get a few feet, then placed her hands beside his.

He stopped to look at her – a look that said so much, but nothing she’d ever be able to put into words – then started pushing again without ever opening his mouth.

Between them, they got the car out of the residential area pretty quickly. Spike maneuvered it the last few feet into an empty lot where, until recently, a building had stood. Again, he took a moment to contemplate it, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it using a Zippo from his other pocket. Smoking half of it, he tossed the still-burning stub in through the smashed window and walked over to where Buffy was stood with her back to a wall, a little bit away.

A million questions ran through her mind followed by a thousand different versions of ‘I’m sorry’, but she couldn’t figure out if any of them were actually the right thing to say so kept quiet. Together, she and Spike watched the whole car catch light. After a while, he told her the basic rundown of what happened in the end with Dru, without her needing to ask anything at all.

It seemed to Buffy that he was saying the words more for his own benefit than for hers, but that didn’t matter. Soon enough, he’d talked himself out and they stood in silence again.

If someone made her bet a thousand dollars on it, she couldn’t have told you who reached first – maybe they did it at the same time. It was an instinctual kind of thing – but, either way, they found themselves holding hands after a while.

It felt safe, and secure, and necessary. Everything else that needed said could wait.


	14. Chapter 14

Buffy woke up feeling surprisingly rested. After she and Spike had finished watching the car burn out, he’d thanked her for coming after him and they’d walked back to the house hand-in-hand.

Back in separate rooms again, she was finally able to sleep knowing that, while she still wasn’t exactly sure where they stood or in what direction they were pointed, they were at least together and both kind of okay with it. At least for now, which was all she could really expect.

She got up and let Sunshine out into the backyard to run around for a bit, then began getting ready for school. When she was dressed and done in the bathroom, she joined her mom for breakfast then knocked on Spike’s door to see if he was okay.

He’d still been sleeping but got up when she came in. Buffy apologized for disturbing him but he said it was all right. “I need to get out and pick up a few things, anyway.”

“Sleepwear?” asked Buffy, eyeing up the crumpled t-shirt he was putting on and definitely _not_ admiring his abs.

“Blood,” he admitted, not quite looking at her.

“Oh. Right. O-of course.” Why hadn’t that occurred to her? And where in the hell was he planning to get it? Had he made the switch to butcher blood? She figured he was about to if he hadn’t already, because she couldn’t imagine him going out slaughtering people now. Or maybe she just didn’t want to imagine that. It was daylight, so he wouldn’t be able to hunt properly without getting nice and toasty, but she had no doubt that he could still find a way to kill people if he really wanted. It was far from an easy thought.

“Reckon your mum’s gonna be okay with a few bags of O-Neg in the freezer?”

“I, uh…” Buffy bit her lip. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Thanks pet.”

They both shifted uncomfortably at his easy use of the nickname.

“We’ve still got a lot to figure out, huh?”

Spike sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was sticking on end and kind of curly at the edges. Buffy kind of liked it. She’d never seen him without the helmet of gel before.

“Certainly seems that way.”

Buffy nodded. She felt it was her duty to clarify the blood thing but had no idea how to bring it up without it sounding like she didn’t trust him. Distrust was definitely not the foot she wanted to start out on, but then again—

As if reading her mind, Spike said, “The hospital disposes of any donations they can’t use, ten-am on Thursdays every week, like clockwork.”

Buffy took a seat on the bed beside him. “That’s good to know.”

“Yeah, it’s not usually much,” he allowed, “But if I mix it in with the pig it’ll help the taste. Make it last a bit longer.”

Buffy reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Spike.”

He raised his head to finally look at her. His eyes looked so, so blue. So… hopeful? “You know, I don’t think I’d been thanked my whole time as a vamp until now. Until you.”

She opened her mouth to say a lot more than that but held back at the last moment, not wanting to rush it. He seemed genuinely touched by her gratitude and that was enough. _Baby steps, Buffy_ , she kept reminding herself. _Baby steps._

When she got up to leave, she noticed Spike’s gaze lingering on her lips and couldn’t decide if the tingle she felt in them in response was supernatural or just her imagination.

Would it be a too-much toddler step if she kissed him? If she let him kiss her? Before she thought it to death, Spike stood up and came closer.

He stopped just at the edge of her personal space and tilted his head to the side, like he wasn’t sure whether to go for it either. Maybe he wanted her to be the one to decide.

Face flushed and heart skipping, she quickly pecked his cheek and made for the stairs without daring to look back lest she be drawn in for more. Because she already wanted more, dammit. Too fast or not, her feelings for Spike had ignited. She didn’t think she could stop them now even if she wanted to, and she really didn’t want to stop at all.

\---

Spike stood star struck in Buffy’s wake. As she took the stairs two at a time, all he could do was blink after her and press and hand to his cheek in a futile effort to prolong the warmth blooming there.

He heard the front door close and took a breath, sinking back into the bed. He wanted to savor the feeling taking him over. He wanted to replay the sweetness of the moment over in his mind.

He needed to do something about the sudden hard-on he’d developed.

Wanking, he feared, might cheapen the moment, but he was a fully-grown man and damn if that didn’t make him weak.

He wanted Buffy. All of her. But he was going to have to wait for her, so he’d need to take care of himself in the meantime lest he go mad.

Part of him wondered why he was bothering to justify it to himself when it was a basic biological need like any other. He’d certainly never been shy about it in the past, but there was something about being with Buffy that made him feel like every bit the virgin. Everything was fresh and new and he didn’t want to spoil it.

He slipped under the covers and thought happy thoughts.

Later – after placing an order with the butcher, picking up some of the donated hospital blood, and taking Buffy’s advice to use the last of his cash to acquire a pair of boxers to kip in – he headed through the tunnels towards Sunnydale High School.

It undoubtedly made him a sap, but he wanted to see her. Sitting alone in a house covered in her scent was torture and it wasn’t like he had anything else to occupy him, useless sod that he was.

Sure, Sunshine was there but he mostly slept. Spike had already taught him how to sit, lie down, and beg, and was out of ideas on where to go with training from there. He’d never had a pet before, even in life, and his lack of experience showed even while his good intentions were clear.

Drusilla had often had animals around, but never for long. Spike made an active habit of never getting attached. Not after the first time.

He wanted to change that now.

He wanted to change everything, because it was like the slate of his life had been wiped clean. Spike was no longer under the shadow of his bloodline. The Master was long dead. So was Darla. Now Angelus and Dru. He was truly on his own for the first time in a century and it scared the shit out of him. Of course he gravitated to the first person who gave him the time of day. The brilliant person she happened to be certainly helped.

Spike continued to muse on his sappy feelings as he reached his destination and did a quick scope of the place. There were raging hormone bombs everywhere, in every hallway, which he took to mean it was lunchtime.

From there, he assumed Buffy would be with her merry gang shut up in the watcher’s library.

He was right.

Following the heady smell of Slayer, Spike found it quick enough. He watched as she paced back and forth, picking at her nail polish as she told all about what had happened with Angel.

Spike’s heart sank as he realized he’d given her his tale of woe but he hadn’t asked about the parts of the big battle that he hadn’t been around for.

They weren’t even dating yet and already he was a shitty boyfriend. Just hearing her go over the details – glossed as they were – he could tell they’d been eating at her.

He’d spent most of his time with her since it happened and he’d had no idea just how much. And he should have known, because of course it rocked her. It would have entirely broken a lesser person.

Spike hung back in the shadows by the door. He hadn’t really decided if he was going to go in or not, but now he was sure turning to leave was for the best.

That was until Xander cracked a joke, however.

When Spike heard him jest about Buffy learning her lesson and staying far away from “vamp smoochies” in future, he couldn’t help himself. He stormed in and gave the whelp a piece of his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

As Buffy recounted how she defeated Angel in as little detail as possible – leaving out the part where he almost won, all the awful things he said, and her truce with Spike – she found herself suddenly exhausted, as if the full weight of everything had been held of her before, but now it was dragging her down.

She was just thinking about how she missed Spike and the uncanny ability he had of making things seem not so bad when Xander did his usual ‘foot-in-mouth’ routine and a swirl of bleach and leather barreled into the room.

Buffy took up a fighting stance at first, assuming there was some danger hot on his heels, but it fell away again a moment later when Spike stalked up to Xander and started yelling.

She got it then. There was nothing chasing him – no other danger. _He_ was the danger. When did she forget that?

“You ungrateful traitor,” he spat, before anyone else had a chance to react. “You call yourself a friend and you talk to Buffy like that? She has saved your life, time and again. She has gone through _hell_ to save the world including your sorry arse and you think you can stand there and belittle her to her face? As if she doesn’t already feel guilty enough for something that isn’t her fault?”

Against her will, Buffy began to tear up. She held herself in check, waiting for him to done, but Spike was apparently only getting started. He was right in Xander’s face, looming closer, no matter how many steps back he took.

“You don’t start showin’ her some respect, then years from now you’ll still be pulling this shit – putting your feelings before her needs – kicking her out of her damn home for makin’ the hard decisions that only she can make!”

Buffy’s nose scrunched up in confusion. Kicking her out? Was that comment a projection of anger he’d felt about her mom saying that? She didn’t know what had set Spike off so bad, but it kinda seemed like things had been bubbling under the surface for a while and were only now coming to the boil.

“You think you’re a big-time bully for such a little boy, is that it? You’ve pissants at you all day, so you pass the jibes on down the line to the womenfolk, make you feel better, eh?”

“Spike!” Buffy chided, genuinely shocked at how full of vitriol he was.

He didn’t seem to hear.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Giles move towards a drawer she knew he kept stakes in. Before he could actually try anything, though, Buffy stepped forward and put a hand on Spike’s forearm.

He whirled to face her, snarling and panting, until his eyes met hers and he stopped as abruptly as he began. In an instant, he went from fully animated to puppet-with-its-strings-cut. And all because he’d looked at her and caught himself before ripping Xander’s head off. All because Xander had made one joke. As much as she hadn’t liked it, it was far from the worst thing he’d ever said to her.

Again, Giles inched closer to the drawer.

Buffy’s hand on Spike tightened. To her watcher she said, “I’ve got this.” Then she looked at Spike again. “You’re going outside, now.” Her tone left no room for argument, but she got the feeling he wouldn’t have tried to go against her anyway.

When it became clear that the immediate danger had passed, Xander started making exclamations of “what the hell?” and demanding to know what was happening.

Spike glared at him but didn’t say anything else.

“Everybody stop, okay?” said Buffy, throwing a pointed look at Giles, who dropped his hand. “Let’s all just calm down. Take a minute. Spike?”

He turned towards the door without her needing to finish the command.

“Give me a sec,” Buffy said to her friends. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Buffy-” Xander began again, but she held up a hand.

“Let me talk to him,” she repeated. “I’ll be back to explain in a minute.” 

\---

Willow watched the library doors swing closed behind Spike and Buffy, then turned her gaze to Giles and Xander who were looking equally bewildered. Beside her, Oz shifted and reached for her hand. She squeezed it, thankful for the silent comfort.

In the next moment, Xander was pacing, his eyes and hands frantic.

“Tell me I just imagined that. I did just have a seizure or something, right? Spike didn’t just…” he shook his head, trying to find a word to describe what he’d done. When Xander clearly couldn’t find a sufficient descriptor, he changed tack to say, “Why is he here, anyway? And why did Buffy go with him?” He turned to look at Willow and asked her, specifically, “Did you see how she spoke to him? And what in the holy hell is he doing trying to stand up for her? Against me? _Us?_ It’s not like he can care about her, right?”

It looked like he was ready to tear his hair out. “Why aren’t you guys freaking out about this? Buffy’s only got rid of one psycho vampire boyfriend and it looks like she has the next one set up already!”

“I assure you,” said Giles, “That I am suitably… _freaked_ , as you say. If only you would give us a moment to ponder an answer to one of your questions without throwing ten more behind it.”

Xander closed his mouth and Giles continued on to say, “Buffy will be returning in a moment. Is it not best that we wait for her to explain herself, as she has said she will?”

Again, Xander went to say something but, before he could, Oz said, “Spike kinda had a point, though, right?”

Xander’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

Willow gave her boyfriend’s hand another squeeze then let it go and stood up. “Xander,” she said delicately, “What you said to Buffy wasn’t very nice.”

“It was a joke!” he protested, raising a finger high in the air. “Though I guess it needed to be said for real if Spike and Buffy are–”

“Buffy is going through a lot,” Willow interrupted to point out. “We’re still waiting to hear the facts. What we know for sure is that she’s hurting. Maybe now isn’t a good time to be making jokes?”

“Quite,” affirmed Giles, alternating between pinching the bridge of his nose and wiping his glasses.

“I can’t believe this,” said Xander, shaking his head again. “You’re criticizing _me_? I was just threatened! I don’t need Buffy to tell me there’s something between her and Spike, I think we all just saw it. So again I say, was my ‘joke’ really all that uncalled for? I mean, what is she thinking? The whole Angel thing was like a literal nightmare. She’s only just got rid of him, and now she’s in with Spike? He doesn’t even have a soul to lose in the first place and–”

“Xander,” Willow interjected again, careful to keep her tone casual.

Her friend stared at her with equal parts confusion and frustration at having been cut off mid-flow. She used the moment of silence to ask, “Do you remember that time you got really angry with Oz?”

Xander’s brows knit together. “What? Will, I never-”

“Oh, you know, when you found out he was a werewolf and could go wild some time and kill us all,” she continued, conversationally. “Because he’s a demon, and demons are bad. Dangerous. Not at all to be trusted.”

“Oz is different,” said Xander, who was now at least three shades paler. “He’s Oz! Safe as a kitten.”

“ _Totally_ ,” said Willow. “That’s why we often lock him up and keep a spare tranq. gun just for him.” She could feel Oz’s eyes on her as she talked about him, but she knew he wouldn’t mind her using him as an example. It was him that often had to remind her of how dangerous he could be, after all.

“He’d never intentionally hurt you,” said Xander. “Or any of us. The demon’s only part of him. He has a soul!”

“Does he?” asked Willow.

Xander’s eyes widened in horror as he took a step back. “Doesn’t he?!”

Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like we ever checked.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Xander decided in the next second.

“Right,” said Willow, before he could add anything else. “So you’re gonna lay off Buffy about Spike.

Xander fumbled for a reply and she pressed on. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all like ‘Yay, Spike! Buffy should totally date him!’ but we don’t know if that’s what’s going on. I’m just saying stop for a second and see what she says.”

Okay, so it totally looked like they were a thing, but Willow couldn’t figure how or why or when that happened, so she wasn’t going to admit to that out loud until she’d at least heard Buffy’s side of the story. Given everything that happened with Angel, she’d been thinking a lot about souls and how sketchy everything they knew about them was. What if Buffy discovered something that she hadn’t had a chance to tell them yet? What if Spike really had a soul but was keeping it quiet for some reason? It didn’t seem likely, but nothing about their lives had really made sense since they met Buffy. Everything now was immortal beings, magic, and hell. If Buffy was allies with Spike, it wasn’t really the weirdest part about any of it.

“Anyway,” she concluded, “You’re in no position to give anyone a hard time about maybe dating a demon. I saw you kissing Cordelia yesterday.” She flashed him a crooked smile. “Cheerleaders, demons… who can say which is worse?”

“Buffy was a cheerleader,” Oz pointed out.

Willow turned to him, smiling brighter. “Yeah,” she agreed, “But we try not to judge.”


	16. Chapter 16

In an empty classroom, Spike watched Buffy pace back and forth. “How am I supposed to explain you going off like that? What even was that?”

Spike opened his mouth to say, ‘I was defending your honor’ or somesuch, but closed it again when she pinned him with a look. He bit his lip and skipped to the heart of the matter.

“Does Xander talk to you like that a lot?”

Buffy folded her arms. “I’m not here to appraise or defend Xander. I want to know what _you_ thought you were doing going after him like that.”

Spike sucked in a breath and held it before admitting, “I may have been overcompensating.”

Buffy scoffed. “You think?”

He lowered his eyes. “It was hearin’ you go over what happened, and then hearing him say that.” He cleared his throat. “I was mad at myself.”

Sneaking a quick look back up at her face, he could see she was connecting the dots.

“You feel guilty about what you said to me, after my fight with Angel went down, and you’re taking it out on Xander?”

To shake off the naughty-schoolboy-in-the-headmistress’s-office vibe he was swathed in, Spike surged to his feet, indignant. “I felt guilty, yeah, but the boy deserved it. Nothin’ I said to him in there was wrong.”

“You do not talk to people like that!” said Buffy. “Not my friends!”

Spike gave her a sidelong glance. “But he’s allowed to say what he likes? Allowed to hurt you?” Buffy flinched, but he pressed on. “I know that what he said – what he thinks – hurts you, Buffy. I don’t want that. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can handle Xander.”

“You can,” he allowed, “But you won’t. You were just gonna let it slide, because a part of you believes it. That’s what this is, right? You accept the beatings you think you deserve.” He lowered his voice again, saying almost tenderly, “I’m sorry I was the first one to get a dig in.”

Buffy swallowed and unfolded her arms, letting them hang awkwardly at her sides. “Can we talk about this later? I should really get back in there.”

Spike took a second before answering, but of course he had to agree. It wasn’t like he could say no and follow her around high school all day.

“I’ll go,” he said, “But Buffy, don’t let him away with this. I know you’re mad at me. Fine, I can handle that, but put the boy in his place because I meant it. I know bullies and if you don’t nip their bullshit right quick, they’ll always come throwing it at you when they have a bad day for years to come.”

Buffy frowned but didn’t disagree with him. “What did you come here for?” she asked instead.

“Oh,” said Spike, suddenly the nervous schoolboy again. “I, uh…” He put his hands in his pockets. “Well I wanted to see you, init?”

Buffy’s frown lifted into a smile, seemingly despite herself. Once more, she and Spike found themselves standing incredibly close to each other. Spike wondered if this was going to be the time they finally got their kiss. Then the bell rang.

\---

The warning buzzer had gone, meaning there were only five minutes before everyone was due in their next class. It didn’t leave Buffy very much time to explain things to her friends, but maybe that was for the best. The longer she talked, the more she might dig herself into a hole and admit things she hadn’t fully finished thinking through for herself.

She braced herself and strode into the library. Everyone who had been busy gathering their book bags for class paused and looked up. Giles, meanwhile, stood still as a statue in the corner.

Buffy swallowed. It was his opinion she was most worried about.

“Spike’s gone,” she said, thinking it was just as good a starter as anything else.

“Where?” Willow asked, at the same time Xander said, “Good.”

He looked equal parts vindicated and relieved. It took Buffy a moment to figure out his misinterpretation of her statement. _Maybe it wasn’t so good, after all._

“I didn’t stake him, Xander. He’s gone home.”

“Home?” Willow echoed.

“Yeah, to my house.”

The looks Buffy was getting intensified. _Oh, boy._

“He’s living with you?” Willow questioned.

Buffy sighed and rubbed her temple. “Drusilla’s gone. As in, dusted. Spike’s on his own. He helped me take Angel down.”

“So, what?” quipped Xander. “You took him to bed so you can pay him back in sexual favors?”

Willow gasped and glared daggers at her friend. Both Giles and Oz stepped forward, as if to confront Xander, but Buffy held up a hand, stilling them.

She used all of her strength to keep her voice even as she said, “Spike is an ally who we can talk about more later when we have time. I was mad at him for yelling at you like that, but clearly he had a point. You’re supposed to be my friend, Xander. If you wanna stay that way, you’re not gonna talk to me or anyone like that ever again.”

To Giles she said she would call in on her way home. He nodded and she left, walking right past class and into the girl’s bathroom where she cried for god knows how long. Every bad feeling that had been building within her since the whole Angel things started broke in fresh waves that rumbled through her.

Shoulders shaking and gasping for breath, Buffy wanted nothing more than for Spike to come back and say again that she didn’t deserve those things; that he loved her, and would defend her. But she’d sent him away. She needed to be strong on her own, but it was so goddamn hard. Friends were supposed to help with that, not tear you a new one when you’re at your most vulnerable.

As best she could, Buffy dried her eyes and fixed her make up before heading to English. The teacher glared at her, demanding to know why she was late.

“Girl problems,” she said, which made him suddenly no longer care about her tardiness. He went right back to talking about Hamlet without another glance in her direction.

Buffy went to her seat, ignoring Xander’s clear attempts at trying to get her attention. She stared right at the blackboard, ignoring everything. The teacher’s voice faded into the distance as she puzzled out her fledgling relationship with Spike and if it was worth more grief.

Buffy wasn’t sure she could handle any more.

Morosely, she decided to put on the breaks. The safest thing she could do, for her heart as well as her social life, would be to pull back and not rush into things any more than she already had. It would be hard, but she could do it. So long as she didn’t look at him too hard, or spend any time alone with him.

After her final class, on her way back to the library, Xander caught up with Buffy and apologized. She accepted it, because Spike was right. It was her nature to just accept things, but she also reiterated her earlier pronouncement that he wouldn’t ever say such things again.

Gravely, he vowed that he wouldn’t. It looked like he wanted to hug to seal the deal, but she brushed him off. She wasn’t quite _that_ forgiving.

In the library, Buffy gave Giles the full rundown of Spike’s involvement in events.

“I’m tempted to ask why you neglected to mention this earlier,” said Giles. “But I suppose I can see how you might have been disinclined.”

“Yeah,” agreed Buffy, her voice low.

“I’m not going to give you a lecture,” Giles continued. “To do so would be…” he paused, then recalibrated. “All I ask is that you be careful and that you come to me if things become… _problematic_. If Spike becomes a problem, he will be a problem we solve together.”

Buffy smiled, trying valiantly not to cry again. “Thanks, Giles.”

She promised him she would indeed be careful, fully intending to make the most of her mom’s uncanny ability to kiss-block her. If she got weak, she could just sit by her mom, helping her with chores or whatever, making sure nothing would happen. It was like Willow was saying, ages ago: all she needed to do was distract herself.

The phone in Giles’ office went, distracting him. He went to get it and she packed up her things ready to go, but he called her back at the last second.

Buffy paused. “Is it trouble?”

Giles handed her the phone. “It’s for you.”

It was Joyce, explaining somewhat nervously that some big disaster had happened with work and that she needed to go to L.A. to source more stock, A.S.A.P.

“I know this is awkward, honey, but do you mind staying home tonight, just you and Spike? I’ll be back tomorrow, but it might be late.”

Buffy gulped. “Uh, sure, Mom. N-no worries.”

This was big, big worries. Trouble with a capital T.

_Ohhhh, boy._


	17. Chapter 17

Spike had never been good at waiting. The older he got, the more his impatience got the better of him. He needed to move; to always be doing something. A state of rest was for quiet minds, and his was anything but.

He’d take Sunshine on a walk, except for it still being broad day outside.

Is this what it was going to be like? He couldn’t imagine staying in Buffy’s house for long if she and Joyce were going to be out most of the week. Boredom was tedious, and neither of the Summers women had a particularly well-stocked book collection – not that he looked anywhere beyond the house’s communal areas. But that wasn’t the heart of it. He couldn’t expect two human women to rearrange their lives just to keep him entertained. If he couldn’t manage his own attentions and had nothing to show for his long existence, there was no one to blame but himself.

Ringing pulled him out of his thoughts. He was so grateful for the distraction, Spike didn’t question the wisdom of answering someone else’s phone in someone else’s house until the receiver was placed to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Spike. I’m glad I caught you.”

“Everything alright, Joyce?”

She sighed and explained her predicament. Spike listened, feeling oddly touched just by the simple act of being considered and clued in on things. As much as he was aware of what Joyce really wanted to impart – that she was trusting him and Buffy in the house alone together, and he better not break that trust – he still appreciated her delicate dance around the issue.

She didn’t outright ask him to promise anything, most likely because they both knew he couldn’t. He’d vowed to himself not to lie to her, and he honestly wasn’t sure where things were going to go with Buffy, and at what rate. He wasn’t gonna push it but, by the same token, if she was ready and made a move, there wasn’t a reality in which he could imagine turning her down. So, no promises. Only hopes.

As the call wrapped up, an idea began to bloom in Spike’s head.

He got to work.

\--- 

Buffy worried herself wretched on the walk back from school. Deep down, she was excited about the prospect of going home to spend time alone with Spike, but there was a thick layer of guilt atop the excitement, stopping her from properly enjoying it.

She’d made things hard for herself, deciding to cool things off with him. She’d have to be on her guard – super vigilant to make sure things didn’t get even harder – but, even so, he’d be hurt and probably feel led on.

It made her feel sick to have done that to him, especially while he was grieving.

All she wanted to do was hold him. And Kiss him. And entirely lose herself in doing a range of non-PG-rated activities. But _gahhh!_ Look how much trouble following her hormones had gotten her into with Angel. Not that Spike was like Angel. Of the differences, she was already all too aware. It was another thing that made things harder. And scarier.

Not too long ago, she thought Angel was the love of her life and that she couldn’t possibly ever feel those feelings as strongly for anyone else. And now, here she was, swathed in feelings that threatened to be even stronger, if she let them.

She could not afford to let them.

What kind of woman would she be if she kept being seduced be vampires? What kind of Slayer?! Goddamn him, but Xander had really gotten in her head with the judgment. If _he_ thought she had a reputation and he A. didn’t know the half of it and B. was supposed to be on her side, what would everyone else think? Would they even be wrong to judge her?

Buffy had thought drawing the walk out would clear her head, but it only left her more time to ruminate and only feel awful-er. By the time she got to her front door, all she wanted was to feign sickness and go straight to bed.

In the hallway, she was immediately surrounded by a combination of smells that stopped her in her tracks. There was sweetness to the scent, as well as a spicy edge. They were blended together so finely, she could practically taste whatever was cooking on the tip of her tongue already.

She’d give her firstborn to taste it for real.

“Hello?” she called out, wondering if she’d somehow walked into the wrong house.

Spike appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked a little flustered, standing there in black t-shirt and jeans without his coat, a dishtowel draped over one shoulder and wooden spoon in hand.

“Buffy. You’re home.”

“Yeah, I…” she bit her lip. _Why in the hell is even this bit awkward? All I have to do is say hi!_ She smiled a little. “Hi, Spike.”

“I didn’t know what time you’d be back. I, um… dinner’s not quite done.”

He looked shamed. Buffy couldn’t bear the earnestness of it. There'd be no faking sickness now.

“It smells amazing,” she said, her stomach flipping over when his eyes lit up at the small amount of praise.

“It’s nothing,” he said. But even if it didn’t smell to die for, she could tell the act of cooking for her clearly meant a lot to him.

“Thank you,” she said, her heart breaking. How was this deadly vampire so tender – to her, of all people?

Briefly, he disappeared into the kitchen only to come out into the hall again, sans dishtowel and spoon. He helped her off with her jacket.

Tingles went up Buffy’s neck as the action lingered longer than was strictly necessary. She moved towards the kitchen, trying to get out of reach of the intoxicating effect he had on her, but he moved to block her path.

“No peaking. It’s a surprise.”

Now, it was like he was an excited puppy, delighted that she’d be seeing his masterpiece. As if on cue, Sunshine appeared at her heels.

“You take this one into the living room and put your feet up, Pet. I’m done with him begging for scraps.”

Buffy laughed. She couldn’t help it. The pure domesticity of the moment eased all of the bad feelings of five minutes before. She had to remind herself not to slip. It would have been so easy to kiss Spike for all he was doing, and all he was. Hastily, she took his advice and planted herself on the couch.

A half-hour later, she took her place at the dining room table, seated across from Spike, who was un-subtly waiting for her to either commend or condemn his offering.

It was some kind of Asian dish. Not anything she’d ever ordered as takeout from the Chinese restaurant in town, but similar. Spike had really gone all out.

“This is amazing!” she exclaimed, at first bite.

He visibly relaxed and tried a bit of his own, much smaller portion.

“Can you, like, stay around and make this for me forever?”

Spike beamed, at least until Buffy caught hold of herself. His face fell a split second after she felt her own topple into a frown.

“What is it? Too hot?” He moved to stand up, probably to get her milk or whatever.

“No, Spike.” She sighed. “It’s perfect.”

He sat heavily back down on his chair. “Too perfect, eh?” He tried to hide his disappointment but didn’t do a very good job.

“Yeah,” said Buffy in a small voice. “Look, I–”

“I get it,” he said, cutting her off. “No worries. Just enjoy the food. There’s no strings.”

Buffy felt stung. Like he’d reached out and slapped her with his easy dismissal – or easy acceptance of her dismissal – she wasn’t quite sure which it was, or why it bothered her so much, but it definitely didn’t sit well.

She tried again to say, “Look, Spike,” but he got up and wordlessly took his plate to the kitchen, where she heard him scrape his food into the bin.

It was the worst breakup she’d ever experienced, and that included how things ended with Angel. Spike had said nothing, and yet it was somehow worse than the swearing and yelling and drinking her parents had done when their marriage imploded.

He was just so broken; already down, and she’d kicked him. Worse, it was like he was expecting it. She hadn’t even given him the whole spiel about how it would be better to have some space – she’d barely said two words – but he knew it coming. It was probably for the best that he saved them the whole horrible conversation, but Buffy felt very little to be glad about.

She was no longer hungry, but not eating would only add insult to injury. When she got halfway through her meal, Spike walked back through the dining room on his way to the front door. He was wearing his coat again.

“Sun’s low enough. Gonna go for a quick patrol; give you the night off.”

He said it all super fast, while still moving, not once looking at her.

By the time he got back, Buffy was in bed crying herself to sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Something was wrong. Buffy saw herself walk across a beach, hand in hand with Angel, a beautiful sunset in the distance. Despite the out-of-body aspect, she couldn’t figure out what was bothering her about the scene. It seemed normal. It should be happy – other Buffy _looked_ happy – but it didn’t feel quite…

Oh. Oh, god!

The scene shifted in a heartbeat. One second Angel was leaning in for a kiss, and the next he was at her throat, drinking his fill.

Buffy couldn’t breathe; couldn’t push him away no matter how hard she tried or how much she yelled at herself to run. When she finally went limp in his arms, Angel lifted his head and laughed.

Dropping Buffy’s body unceremoniously to the sand, he then stared into the distance – right into the eyes of the Buffy that had been watching herself.

“That’s right,” he said. “I’m back, baby, and it’s all thanks to you.”

 

Buffy screamed. Suddenly all around her was dark. It took too long for her to realize she was in bed and it was all a dream. Even when the truth washed over her, it took a long time for her breathing to calm.

When she could just about think straight, she asked herself if it was a regular nightmare or Slayer dream, deciding that it was the former; having none of the hallmarks of a premonition – thank god.

She climbed out of bed on shaky feet and walked the short distance to the next room, where Spike’s bed lay empty; the bedding pulled straight, like he’d never been there.

It took all of Buffy’s strength not to burst into tears. She didn’t know if she was more sad or angry, and if the upset was with Spike or herself. She needed him and he wasn’t there, but she’d been the one to push him away.

Before she could panic too badly, Buffy realized she could still feel his familiar tingle at the back of her neck. He must still be in the house.

She walked downstairs and came upon him instantly: the light from the muted TV making the living room glow like a beacon. He was sat on the couch, with Sunshine asleep across his lap, staring at her.

The weird lighting in the otherwise darkened room made his eyes shine funny, but she could tell he knew what had happened. He’d heard her heart jump in her chest when she woke up, or maybe the scream, though she wasn’t sure if that had been real or just in her head. It didn’t matter. Spike was just sat there, looking into her soul, knowing that she’d woken up terrified and came looking for him.

Without a word, he shifted to lift one arm.

Buffy padded over to him in bare feet and snuggled into his side, promptly falling back asleep.

\---

Joyce idled on her doorstep. She was in two minds. Her work trip hadn’t taken as long as she’d initially feared, which was a relief. It was early morning and she was ready for bed, but nervous about what she might find as soon as she opened the door. Buffy wouldn’t be expecting her back so soon. Would she be ready for her, having done nothing she’d need to hide, or was Joyce about to walk in on her teenage daughter doing god knows what with a man several times her age? The thought sickened her. Once more, she considered calling the landline to announce her arrival, but it was barely past six-am. She’d driven part way through the night and was being ridiculous, right? Buffy would be sleeping. There was no need to wake her so early.

Joyce slid her key in the door. She opened it quietly, glad to see the hallway clear of clothes torn off in a hurry upstairs.

She was just about to scold herself for imaging the worst of Buffy when she caught sight of her on the couch with Spike, wrapped tightly around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every instinct in Joyce’s body told her to run in there and pull them apart, but she forced herself to think it through. They weren’t naked, they weren’t having sex, and they hadn’t crept into each other’s bed. They were sleeping in front of the TV with the dog between them. That was all.

It was just as much as Joyce’s nerves could handle.

As she continued to stare, Sunshine stirred, caught sight of her and gave a happy little ‘welcome home’ bark.

Buffy shifted in her sleep but didn’t wake. Spike, on the other hand, opened his eyes. They fixed on Joyce, who had the sudden urge to run away and hide her shame at encroaching on the intimate moment, even if it was in the middle of her living room.

She opened her mouth – to apologize, say hello, or call out to Buffy, she wasn’t sure – but Spike put a finger to his lips. His eyes were pleading with her. Her jaw closed.

Silently, she pointed to the kitchen. Spike gave her a thumbs up and she walked off down the hall. It was such an odd little exchange, and she had no idea how she felt about any of it. One thing was certain, though: she needed coffee.

\---

Spike was loath to wake Buffy. He didn’t want to disturb her but, more than that, he didn’t want to let her go; selfish git that he was. He may never get to hold her again, but he was only doing so now because she’d been vulnerable. Did that mean he was taking advantage? Did he care?

Either way, Joyce was home and clattering about in the kitchen.

The night was at an end.

Taking one last moment to memorize her scent and the weight of her in his arms, he gently nudged her until she was sitting of her own accord, rubbing tired eyes.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice a croak.

“Morning,” he said. “Mum’s home.”

“Oh.” She sat straighter. A blush rose to her cheeks. “Hi.”

Spike pulled away. “Should I go?”

“Go?” Buffy echoed. She looked about, as if to orientate herself. “The sun’s coming up. Where would you go?”

“I wasn’t suggesting a walk, love.”

Buffy blinked. “Oh,” she said again.

Spike moved to stand up, but she put a hand on his to stop him.

“Don’t,” she said, even as she avoided looking at him. “Please. Don’t leave.”

“Buffy…”

“No, okay? I know I’m being all demand-y and I have no right, but…”

“Okay,” he said, settling back down. What else could he do? Turn her down? Not in this bloody lifetime. He’d stay for as long as she let him. Though whatever that meant, he didn’t know.

Buffy visibly relaxed. “Thank you,” she whispered, petting Sunshine’s fur.

“Maybe we’ll go on a long patrol, later,” he suggested. “Talk things out.”

“Yeah,” said Buffy. “That’s… That would be nice.”

They sat in silence for a minute, then she got up, offered a quick hello to Joyce and disappeared off upstairs to brush her teeth, by the sounds of it.

Spike sat feeling empty at the loss of her warmth next to him. It took him a moment to realize Joyce had left the kitchen and had wandered back out into the hall, where she was watching him again.

“Would you like some coffee?”

He stood up and stretched. “Got any hot chocolate?”


	19. Chapter 19

When Buffy left for school, Spike and Joyce sat together at the kitchen island nursing refilled mugs of their beverage of choice: her, more coffee – now decaf; him, hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

“I want to thank you for respecting my home,” said Joyce.

Spike wasn’t sure how to reply. It had been an accident, so he wasn’t sure he could take credit. Finally, he managed, “I’m not sure you need to worry about me and Buffy.” He swallowed. “There is no… me and Buffy.”

Joyce looked surprised. She tapped the side of her mug with her index finger, thoughtfully. “That’s not how things seem to me.”

This rendered Spike speechless. Because what was he gonna do – disagree with her? She knew Buffy better than he did. Dare he hope she saw something he didn’t?

“She’s clearly very taken with you,” continued Joyce. “After Angel, I was worried she’d never quite recover, but you seem to help her. As a mother, I have to be glad about that.”

_Well, well, isn’t that something?_ “You don’t look so glad,” he noted.

“There’s concern, too, naturally.”

“Naturally,” echoed Spike, staring into the depths of his mug. “I don’t want to hurt her,” he said to the frothy dregs. In truth, he thought _he_ was the one much more in danger of getting ripped open.

“I appreciate that,” said Joyce. “Boys have always been a worry, but after Angel…” she trailed off.

Spike sighed. “Always knew how to raise the bar, that one. You think all you’ve gotta watch out for is STDs and teenage pregnancy, then poncy-pants comes along and suddenly it’s all blood and viscera.”

Joyce shuddered.

Spike mumbled an apology. She didn’t need the imagery. “Point is, I get it. You’re scared witless that something ‘ill happen and you’re powerless to help even if it did, bein’ human and all.”

Joyce’s face grew grey and Spike silently cursed himself. He was trying to make her feel better, not worse.

“I guess it does help to know you understand,” she said.

“I do,” affirmed Spike. “The Slayer does, too. She’s just as worried about hurting you.”

Joyce scoffed, but Spike wouldn’t let her wave it away. “I mean it. She loves you, and needs you, and is right feared you’re gonna reach your limit and call it quits.”

“I wouldn’t!” said Joyce. “I know what I said before, but–”

Spike raised placating hands. “Not havin’ a go, just sayin’ things as I see them.”

Joyce pondered that for a minute then said, “You’ve been quite insightful about me and Buffy. What about you?”

_What about me indeed? Don’t think there’s much of an account I can give._ When he struggled to say anything aloud, Joyce prompted, “What makes you think you and Buffy don’t have a future? Did I hear you say you were planning to leave?”

“Buffy… she, uh… well.” He cleared his throat. “She said–”

“I heard her tell you not to go. You must realize that means something.”

Spike thought back to the night before, ready to present as evidence the Slayer’s words to the contrary, but he hadn’t let her get any out. In the moment, it had seemed so clear what she was saying, but he hadn’t really given her a chance. Had he jumped the gun? It had certainly been his M.O. in the past.

When he’d come home from patrol, he’d heard her sniffling and smelt her tears, and he’d hardened his heard, forcing himself not to go up there and at least damn well _try_ to make things better. Was his whole strop over a bloody misunderstanding? God, he was a berk.

Joyce made an ‘ahem’ noise, bringing Spike’s mind back into the room.

He shook his head. “Sorry. Lot of thoughts.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

“You know, I’m not rightly sure.”

“Well, sort it out,” said Joyce resolutely. “Because you promised not to hurt her, and I’m gonna hold you to it.”

Spike smiled despite himself. He liked a bit of command in a woman and wasn’t about to point out that he’d made no such vow. He’d said he didn’t _want_ to hurt Buffy, not that he wouldn’t, or hadn’t already.

“We’ll talk,” he promised now.

“Good,” said Joyce. She lifted the mugs and placed them in the sink. “I’m going to bed. What’s your plans for the day?”

“Errands,” he said, vaguely. There were definitely some important things to sort out.

\---

At lunch, Buffy and Willow sat a distance apart from the rest of the Scooby Gang to discuss important girl matters.

“You look miserable,” Willow began.

“Gee, thanks,” said Buffy. “And here I thought you’d try and make me feel better.”

Willow squeezed her hand and softened her tone. “What happened?”

“The worst thing ever,” said Buffy, “Nothing at all.”

“Huh?”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t think the Spike thing’s gonna go anywhere.”

“Oh,” said Willow. “That’s a bad thing?”

“Yes!” said Buffy, exasperated.

Willow frowned and suggested she start from the beginning. Then, at the end of Buffy’s explanation asked, “So… why aren’t you with him again?”

“Hello? Vampire!”

“And?”

Buffy pouted. “Is that not enough?”

“Oh, Buffy.”

“What? I’m trying here.”

“I know, sweetie, but again I ask why. There’s no point in torturing yourself for some arbitrary reason.”

“I don’t know, Will. Is it all that arbitrary? I mean, he _is_ a vampire. And vampires are bad.”

“Angel wasn’t.”

“Until he was.”

Willow frowned. “Do you want me to agree with you, here, or convince you to do what you want?”

“I–” Buffy stopped herself. “I don’t know.” She massaged her temples with her fingertips. “It’s not even the fact that I’m torturing myself. What’s killing me more is how much it’s hurting him.”

“Wow,” said Willow, now smirking.

“What?” demanded Buffy.

“You’ve got it bad.”

Buffy groaned. “I do, don’t I?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Okay, last time: this doesn’t have to be a bad thing!”

“Right, right,” said Buffy, but the words didn’t sound the least bit sure even to her own ears.

“I’m serious,” said Willow.

“And I’m an idiot,” said Buffy. “A sucky idiot who hurts people – _vampires_ – whatever. You’re really not wigged out about the vampire thing?”

“There is a small amount of wigging,” admitted Willow, “But it’s like I was saying to Xander: I’m dating a werewolf. He’s been attracted to demons. We’re not really in a position to throw stones.”

“It didn’t stop him,” Buffy noted.

“For which we are very mad at him,” said Willow, “But he’ll come around.”

Buffy looked skeptical. “You think?”

“I do,” Willow affirmed, “But we’re getting off topic. Xander doesn’t matter here. This is about you and Spike. What are you gonna do?”

“I need to make it up to him, but I’m not sure how.”

“Well,” said Willow, “I don’t know him as well as you do but, from what you’ve said, I don’t think it needs to be a big gesture. Maybe just talk to him?”

Buffy considered it. “Talk to him. Right. I can do that.” She nodded some more, then turned back to Willow. “You mean with actual words, right?”

\---

Before heading out on their preplanned patrol, Buffy had chores to complete. Spike offered to help her, so off they went to the basement, a basketful of laundry each.

It was still awkward as hell.

Because he didn’t know how to build up to it or segue into the news properly, Spike just put it out there: “Got myself some work – odd jobs for Willy, mostly – protection from the nastier things that go bump in the night. It comes with a room above the bar. I know you told me not to go anywhere, but I reckoned that was meant in the leaving town sense and thought maybe gettin’ out from under feet would take the pressure off, some.” He shrugged. “Anything to make things easier for you.” If she needed an out and really didn’t want to explore what they could be any further, this was the opportunity.

“Wow,” was all she said. “I guess you’ve been busy.”

He gave a curt nod, still not sure where he stood or if he was pushing it. “Fancy some car shopping at the weekend?”

She hesitated and he clarified, “Strictly friends.”

Buffy’s lip wobbled. “What if I don’t want to be just friends?”

His hand stilled on the dryer dial. “What do you want it to be?”

“More?” Buffy hedged.

He looked at her, desperate to find something in her eyes he could hold onto that was more secure than all the uncertainty she was giving off.

“Okay, so I know I’ve been all mixed-signals girl, but I–”

“Do you want me, Buffy?” he asked bluntly. “If you don’t, just say. I’m a big boy. I’ll deal with it.”

“I want you!” Buffy exclaimed with such force, it surprised both of them.

“You want me to… what?” he pressed, not leaving any room for misinterpretation this time around.

She kissed him full on the mouth, clearing things up nicely.


	20. Chapter 20

Moving house was a farce. Spike knew it and Buffy knew it. He didn’t have very many worldly possessions to move, but when she offered to help him, he of course said yes.

He looked around his new room, wondering what she’d make of it. It wasn’t much, but it didn’t need to be. There was a bed, a dresser, a sink, and a bookcase.

Spike fixated on making sure the bedding was straight. There were a few hours to kill before he was due to pick Buffy up and, once more, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His brain still hadn’t quite processed that any of the previous day was real.

He needed to build himself a life with actual hobbies, to stop driving himself demented, but he was getting there. He had a job and a place to stay and he had Buffy. Hobbies or anything else barely mattered with a list like that, but he needed something to distract himself with for times when she wasn’t around. Like now, when she was spending precious mother-daughter time.

He glanced forlornly at the clock, convinced it must be running slow. New car keys were burning a hole in his pocket.

After his kiss with Buffy, two nights before, they had The Talk – which essentially boiled down to both of them being terrified as fuck about being with each other, but ultimately willing to give it a shot anyway – which swiftly became more kissing, and was on the verge of something else entirely when Joyce came down the basement steps to make sure they remembered to add fabric softener to the laundry.

Yesterday, Spike and Buffy took a test drive up the coast at dusk. She’d helped him pick a sporty number – black, of course – with a convertible roof and handy, if not particularly spacious, backseat.

Away from the light pollution of town, they pulled into a secluded spot overlooking the water, reclined their seats until they were almost flat and did a spot of stargazing.

Her hand in his, Spike could feel Buffy’s pulse point flutter against his flesh. It was electric. Soon, they were following their blood, kissing, licking, biting, and groping; doing everything but the deed itself.

He didn’t want the first time to be in a car. It should take time – be done right – of that he was adamant.

It was still torturous to pull away.

Joyce had thanked Spike once again for being respectful when he’d dropped Buffy home, which made his guilt flare a little, but he couldn’t regret some of the not so respectable positions they’d ended up in.

What Joyce didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.

As far as she was concerned, Buffy came home in one piece at a semi-decent hour – at least by Buffy’s standards, which meant no later than an apocalypse might reasonably keep her out – and that was enough.

Spike looked at the clock again, counting the seconds. Inexplicably, there were definitely sixty of them to a minute. As he paced around, tempted to straighten the bedcovers some more, Willy called up the stairs that he needed assistance in the bar. A demon gang was trying to start some violence.

Thank fuck.

\---

Buffy was twitchy. As much as she was enjoying quality bonding time with her mom, she wanted nothing more than to just meet Spike already. Their kisses had fired her up, but he’d stopped before fully satisfying the flames and dear god if she didn’t have him soon she might just combust.

She shifted in her place on the couch, trying to focus on the movie Joyce had picked. Already, she’d forgotten the title and most of the characters.

The pause button flashed in the corner of the screen.

Buffy turned to her mom.

“Are you okay, honey? You seem…”

“I’m fine!” insisted Buffy, perhaps a little too quickly. “Just, you know, excited to be hanging out.”

Joyce gave her a look. “I know I have my moments, but I’m not quite that naïve.”

Buffy beamed her brightest smile. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, give me a break. You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof. Sunshine won’t even settle on your lap because of how much you’re squirming.”

Buffy’s smile slipped into a guilty grin. “Sorry.”

Joyce raised her eyes heavenwards. “Just what am I going to do with you?”

“Raise my allowance?”

“Nice try, missy!”

Buffy picked at a piece of lint on her skirt. “I guess I am a little on edge.”

“I’m almost scared to ask, but how are things with Spike? No details, please!”

Buffy laughed but took her time to consider the question – and her phrasing of the answer – carefully. “Things are… good, I think. I had a bit of a wobble, while you were gone, but we’re over that now.”

“A wobble?” questioned Joyce.

“Yeah, like, I was questioning things. I thought maybe we should cool things down but then, when I tried, I realized it was only the worst idea ever.”

Joyce made a _hmm_ -ing noise.

Buffy wasn’t sure what her mother made of any of it but felt the need to explain herself better. “Spike is like no person I’ve ever known. He’s supposed to be this big bad vampire who super dangerous, especially to Slayers. Giles warned me about him before he ever showed up in town, saying that he might come after me once he heard I’d been called and was living on the Hellmouth.”

Joyce’s eyes went wide at the word ‘Hellmouth’ and Buffy belatedly realized that she wouldn’t have heard the term before. She didn’t know whether or not to clue her in on the fact that, yes indeedy, they were living on a literal mouth to hell.

“Anyway…” she continued after a moment, deciding she could circle back around later if it became important or if her mom asked. “At the start of this year, I started hearing rumors that he did come to town after all, but I didn’t see him myself. It was like he was avoiding me. Angel said it must be a trick to try and get me to seek him out and told me to be careful, and then I finally ran into Spike one night in a cemetery. He was breaking into a grave to get some kinda artifact and boy was he not happy to see me. Before we could even fight, he ran off – artifact in hand. Giles said I should go after him at that point, so I did. I followed him to a crypt where he was taking care of Drusilla. She was sick. Something about a mob in Prague, or Prussia or something?” Buffy really hadn’t meant to get started on all this detail, but now she could barely stop herself.

“When Spike thought I was gonna dust her, he tried to make a truce: don’t kill his girlfriend and they’d both stay out of my way.”

“That doesn’t really sound like the person Mr. Giles and Angel were worried about,” said Joyce.

“I know,” said Buffy. “They both still thought it was a trap, somehow, but I didn’t want to try taking on two master vamps if I didn’t have to, so I waited to see what they’d do.”

“And?” Joyce pressed, clearly caught up in the story.

“And it was another while before I saw Spike again. He stayed true to his word and kept out of my way. Until, one day, he came after Angel.”

Joyce let out a little gasp. “He knew he was evil?”

Buffy shook her head. “Not then. It turned out Spike had discovered that Angel was the key to curing Dru. He did some ritual and she got better, but he’d broken the truce. Angel was fine, so I didn’t know what to do. Spike was supposed to leave town, but a couple days later he came to find me. He wanted to warn me that Angel might lose his soul.”

“Because of the ritual?” asked Joyce.

Buffy bit her lip, hating how she couldn’t give a simple history of Spike without also detailing all of the Angel bits. “No. Um, that was… different. He’d been cursed with a soul, and the curse broke.”

“How did Spike know that was going to happen?”

“You know what?” said Buffy, “A lot of this doesn’t matter now. The point is that it happened and, when it did, Spike wanted another truce.”

Joyce looked perplexed at the info dump. Buffy hoped to god she wouldn’t start pulling all of it apart. Her excitement had already begun to fizzle, just glossing over it.

After a long pause, Joyce said, “I can see why you were confused about Spike. He seems…”

“He is,” said Buffy. “I… I think I trust him. As much as anyone ever can trust somebody else. They always have the potential to be jerks, deep down, but you gotta give them a chance to find out for sure, right?”

“Buffy, this is a lot,” said Joyce.

Buffy was worried it was on the tip of her tongue to add that, actually, she’d had a point before and maybe she should be more careful, but her mom finally added, “I’m proud of you.”

“Huh wuh?”

“I didn’t realize before just how complicated your life was, or how well you were handling it. My little girl is so grown up!” She had honest to god tears in her eyes.

Buffy began to choke up in response. “Thanks, Mom. For understanding.”

“Thanks for taking the time to explain it to me,” said Joyce.

They hugged tightly for a solid minute before someone knocked at the door. Buffy disentangled herself from her mother’s arms and went to get it. She pulled the door open and was greeted by Spike in a dress-shirt, carrying a bunch of flowers.

“Hello, cutie.”

Her stomach back flipped. “Are those for me?”

“Err…” he ran a hand through his hair. “For Joyce, actually.”

Buffy pulled him inside and kissed him hard before her mom appeared in the living room doorway behind them and cleared her throat. They broke apart and Spike sheepishly handed over his offering, the petals only slightly bruised.

Joyce said hello to Spike and took the flowers. “I’ll put these in a vase. You can join me in the kitchen while Buffy gets ready.”

Spike bobbed his head. “Sorry to cut things short. Was a little…”

“Overeager?” provided Joyce, smirking.

He bashfully looked at Buffy. “Sommit like that.”

She smiled, planted a kiss on his cheek and took off running upstairs. “I won’t be long!”

\---

In the car, Spike’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he kept his eyes forward, forcing himself not to pull Buffy into his lap. She was practically vibrating with anticipation in the seat next to him.

“I really do like this car,” she said, conversationally.

“Want to give her a name?” asked Spike.

“Yes,” Buffy said decidedly, before falling silent for a long moment. “I can’t think of one.”

Spike chuckled. “You have a good day?”

“I did, but I think I’m about to have a better one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, coyly. God, she was amazing.

“Buffy, there’s something I should say before we make it back to my place.”

Spike sensed her muscles coil like a spring and decided it might be best to make the declaration while stationary. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned in his seat to face her.

She was waiting with bated breath.

“Before this gets even further, you should know that I love you. Wholeheartedly. I’m–”

Buffy threw herself at him, making him damn glad he’d cut the engine. She peppered his face in kisses. “God! Don’t do that to me. Don’t you know how ‘we need to talk’ sounds? I thought you’d changed your mind!”

“Changed my mind? Are you daft?” He shook his head. “I didn’t say, ‘we need to talk’ at any rate. Thought we’d got all that out of our system yesterday.”

Buffy blushed. “You didn’t have talking planned for our date?”

“Maybe a word or two,” Spike allowed, “But I might have other ideas.”

Buffy’s blush deepened. She poked him in the leg. “Come on then, hurry up.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’re a damn demanding chit, you know that?”

“Sure,” she said. “But, umm…” she bit her lip. “I should probably tell you that I love you too.”

Spike’s fingers stilled at the ignition. He turned back to Buffy.

“I mean it,” she said. “I love you, Spike.”

“Buffy,” he said on a breath. “Oh, Buffy!” He caressed her cheek, drinking in the image of her, then leaned in for a kiss.

It was a while before they made it back to his new place after all. Drunk on the moment, Spike decided he didn’t care if their first time was in a car. There’d be plenty more time afterwards to make up for it.

He and Buffy were entirely lost to each other.

Things had never been so right.


	21. Chapter 21

Epilogue

_One Year Later_

Buffy stretched languidly, the muscles in her arms and legs delightfully achy from the full workout of the night before. She scooched over in bed until her back was flush with Spike’s hard chest and harder… other parts.

She grinned. “You're ready to go  _again_? It that even, like, legal?”

A laugh rumbled low in Spike’s chest. “What can I say, love? Always been a rebel.”

Buffy rolled over to kiss him. Her hands drifted to where he was poking her, but he pushed them away.

“Hey!” She pouted. “What gives?”

“Not turnin’ you down, sweets, it’s just that I’ve got other ideas.”

Her brow lifted. “Oh?”

He sank beneath the covers and hitched her legs over his shoulders.

“ _Ohhhh_.” She melted into him, declaring cheerily to herself, “Happy Birthday Buffy.”

Sometime later, she still didn’t want to leave bed but hunger got the better of her. Spike was being firm.

“Time for you to scamper off and join Joyce for that special brunch she’s makin’ you.”

Buffy groaned. “Do you think I can get her to bring it here? I mean, it is a special occasion.”

“I’m not sure you want mummy dearest in our bedroom,” said Spike. “She might get the wrong idea.”

Buffy glanced at the manacles attached to the wall. “It wouldn’t necessarily be an  _incorrect_ idea, but I see your point.” With another groan, she pulled herself up and walked the short distance to the en suite.

At least with this place, she didn’t have to get changed just to run across the hall to a shared bathroom or risk bumping into Willy. He’d been great, helping Spike out with the room above the bar, but the impracticality of it meant the arrangement didn’t last long.

As it turned out, having a Slayer regularly sleep over only seemed to attract trouble, rather than keep it away. In the end, Willy actually paid Spike to move to a much nicer two-bed apartment across town, beside the college campus where Buffy was due to start in September.

When she was done with her shower, she walked back into the bedroom to find the sheets pulled up and a little box sitting on top of her pillow. Buffy pounced on it, her inner child gleefully happy with the overabundance of ribbon.

Inside was a pretty pendant on a long chain. Buffy fingered it, gasping when she felt some kind of power emanating from the stone.

“Protection crystal,” said Spike, coming up behind her. She handed him the necklace and he secured the clasp at the nape of her neck. “You like it?”

Buffy eyed it in the mirror, loving the way it sat neatly between her breasts; delicate and beautiful. “I love it, Spike.” She turned around and captured his lips. “I love  _you_.”

“Can’t ever get enough of hearing that,” said Spike.

She smiled up at him. “Kinda okay with that. I should get changed, though, or my mom’ll be pissed. I’m already late. Again.”

Spike let her go, but not without a kiss on the forehead.

\---

Joyce was in the hallway piling boxes when Buffy finally showed up.

“Oh, hey Mom. Sorry I’m late, there was…” she trailed off, in part because she’d forgotten to prepare an excuse, and secondly because she noticed what was in the boxes. “This isn’t gallery stuff.”

Joyce sighed from the exertion of packing. “No, it’s not.”

Buffy frowned as she lifted Mr. Gordo to her chest. “This is Buffy stuff.”

Joyce straightened to look at her properly. “I think it’s time we stopped pretending that you actually live here anymore.”

“But–” Buffy’s lip wobbled. “You’re throwing me out? It’s my birthday!”

Joyce’s hands went to her hips. “Throwing you out? Honestly, Buffy!”

“What?” she said, defensive.

Her mom took a deep breath and made that face she got just before she started a sentence with ‘Young lady,’ but then paused.

“You’re an adult,” she said instead. “In an adult relationship. I barely see you from one week to the next. So, no, Buffy, I’m not throwing you out, I’m taking you turning eighteen as a sign from the universe that I should just accept reality as it is: you moved out a long while ago.”

Buffy floundered, not sure how to reply. It was true, she had been sleeping at Spike’s more often than not, but was it really whole weeks at a time?

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Joyce’s eyes clouded over, briefly, as if the words didn’t compute. “Sorry?” she questioned. “Buffy, this isn’t me punishing you, or criticizing you.”

Buffy eyed her carefully. “It’s not?”

Joyce raised her eyes heavenward, but was smiling when she looked back at Buffy. “I apologize for being Grumpy Mom, I’m just tired. It’s true what they say: you never realize how many things you have until you start moving it all around.”

“So…” Buffy studied Mr. Gordo, horrified by how many loose threads he had. “I’m not in trouble?”

“No, Buffy,” said Joyce on a breath. “While I defy any mother to be entirely happy when their child flies the nest, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I like Spike, and I want you to be happy.” She began moving boxes again. “I also really want a sewing room.”

Buffy took the box from her mother, finally allowing herself to believe what she was hearing. It took all her self-control not to call Spike up and tell him the news: they were roommates. As in, officially.

“He’s going to be so stoked!”

Joyce smiled at her newfound enthusiasm. “We can finish loading these into the car later.” She grabbed her car keys off the hall table. “I need a break and I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Guilty,” said Buffy, “But only because I was meeting you for lunch.”

“Okay, well, where do you fancy? It’s my treat, birthday girl.”

Buffy pondered it, eventually deciding on her mom’s favorite cafe. She had thought they were gonna stay in for a home-cooked meal, but this was better. Joyce had already done so much, with all the packing. Which, the more Buffy thought about it, was an incredibly touching gesture. Not to mention practical. It would make her life easier, having all her things in one place.

She was surprised to be given another gift once they were sat down to eat. Buffy unwrapped an ornate marble photo frame with a picture of her and her mom inside.

“So you don’t forget me,” said Joyce. “You can also call it a housewarming gift.”

Buffy carefully set the frame down and hugged her mom tight, vowing to spend more time with her and thankful that at least she had Sunshine to stop her being entirely on her own.

“Of course I’m not going to forget you!”

Joyce smiled and told her to finish her pancakes.

After they swung back around to the house and picked up all of Buffy’s things, Joyce drove them to Spike’s place where they both got out.

“It’s okay,” said Buffy. “I can carry everything.”

“You are carrying them,” said Joyce. “I just want to see inside. It’s been a while you’ve had me ‘round.”

Buffy blushed. “Oh, right. Yeah, uh…” she really hoped Spike had picked up her underwear and wasn’t walking around the house naked. “Just let me go in first, okay?”

Joyce shrugged and Buffy ran past her, deciding to go back for the boxes after the viewing – and the judging – was done. She fumbled her key in the door but eventually opened it to find the whole place in darkness.

Buffy was used to Spike having the curtains closed during the day, but they usually had a light on. With no small trepidation at feeling her mom at her back, Buffy flipped the switch.

Streamers flew all directions and party poppers burst to life while, in unison, Xander, Willow, Giles, and Joyce yelled, “Happy Birthday Buffy!”

Buffy’s eyes bugged out at the huge banner hung up across one wall. A tear ran down her cheek. “Oh my god, you guys!”

She and her mom stepped into the house properly and Buffy shut the door. She was about to ask where Spike was when two hands with unmistakable black nail polish exited the kitchen, the rest of him hidden behind the biggest cake she’d ever seen.

There were so many candles, Buffy thought the fire alarm might go off and when it came time to blow them out, there wasn’t a single thing she could think of to wish for. She already had everything she could ever want.


End file.
